He admitted his single blessedness; he named his address; he on further urging named his room rent. And Janet came back at him with a practical ferocity that was magnificent. "If you're so keen on helping my little lady why are ye no livin' here and paying her rent?" He murmured things about neighborhoods and slums and not being able to afford to live in such a hole and appearances and other futile excuses. But in the end he followed her meekly up the stairway and was shown the glories of Grandy's old room. It was a huge cavern of a room, a whale of a room, with a curtained alcove holding a stately bed, with wide windows overlooking the bay and a low squatty chair beside the fireplace. While he was looking Dulcie tripped down the stairs and winked solemnly at Janet. And she too assailed him. He hadn't an argument left when the two of them were through with him. He felt like a henpecked Mormon husband; he was red with wrath at the Sculptor Girl's cool bossiness; he loathed the very idea of living in the same house with such a person. Especially when she told him bluntly, that he'd have to go to Felice and beg to be taken in. Felicia mustn't know that he'd been "influenced" she put it. In the end he capitulated, clambering up to the nursery and tapping meekly on the door, stammering as he made his request. But he'd his reward straight with--the reward of her wide, sincere smile. "How stupid I was not to offer it to you! Of course you must have longed for it directly you saw it--oh, do you know I think you must have felt it was just the place for a lawyer! Shall I tell you something--" she was down the stairs, running like a girl to point out the wonders of the room. "You see Grandy's father was a Judge and he knew Louisa's uncle--It was Louisa's uncle who used to live in this house and both those men used to sit in this room and talk and talk and talk--Mademoiselle told me about it. You shall have Grandy's father's picture over the fireplace. We shall bring it up from the hall. It's a beautiful picture--you'll just admire him! And to think-- we haven't unpacked the books, Grandy's father's books--" she smiled over her shoulder at Dulcie as she always smiled when she quoted that slangy young person, "That will be Some Law!" All the same he was young enough so that he apologized profusely to his friends for having such a disreputable lodging, "Yep, I know it's a rookery and a rotten neighborhood, but I have reasons--" he said it darkly as though he were plotting. He didn't yet know that a very powerful reason was Dulcie. He was so busy hating her, thinking up things to say back when she let her saucy, slangy phrases loose at him that he didn't know how easily he was learning to love the solemn heavy furniture that surrounded him, the bit of fire in the grate on chilly evenings, and Dulcie herself, poking her head in the door crying, "How is the majesty of the law? Would it mind lifting a ladder for a poor woiking goil?"