'That's my business. I'm staying with some delightful friends. You wouldn't know them--wouldn't want to either.' 'Nonsense! You used to say you had no friends except mine. You must come and stay here. Cecil would be delighted to see you.' 'I daresay--but I'm not coming. I may be a fool, but I'm not stupid enough for that. I should hate it, besides! No; but I'll look in and see you from time to time, and give you a word of advice. You doing housekeeping, indeed!' She laughed as she looked round. 'Who engaged your servants?' 'Why, I did.' 'I suppose you were too sweet and polite to ask for their characters, for fear of hurting their feelings? I suppose you gave them twice as much as they asked? This is the sort of house servants like. Do you allow followers?' 'How should I know? No; I suppose not. Of course, I let them see their friends when they like. Why shouldn't they? They let me see mine.' 'Yes! that's jolly of them--awfully kind. Of course you wouldn't know. And I suppose the young man, Cecil, or whatever you call him, is just as ignorant as you are, and thinks you do it beautifully?' 'My dear Anne, I assure you--' 'I know what you are going to say. You order the dinner. That's nothing; so can anyone. There's nothing clever in ordering! What are you making yourself miserable about? What's the matter?' 'Tell me first where you're staying and what you're doing. I insist on being told at once.' 'I'm staying with charming people. I tell you. At a boarding-house in Bloomsbury. I'm a great favourite there; no--now I come to think of it--I'm hated. But they don't want me to leave them.' 'Now, Anne, why live like that? Even if you wouldn't stay with us, it's ridiculous of you to live in this wretched, uncomfortable way.' 'Not at all. It isn't wretched, and I thoroughly enjoy it. I pay hardly anything, because I help with the housekeeping. Of course it isn't so much fun as it used to be with you. It's a little sordid; it isn't very pretty but it's interesting. It's not old-fashioned; there's no wax fruit, nor round table in the middle of the room. It's only about twenty-five years out of date. There are Japanese fans and bead curtains. They think the bead curtains--instead of folding-doors--quite smart and Oriental--rather wicked. Oh and we have musical evenings on Sundays; sometimes we play dumb crambo. Now, tell me about the little rift within the lute.' 'I always told you every little thing, Anne--didn't I?' Anne turned away her head. 'Who arranges your flowers?' 'I do.' 'Oh, you _do_ do something! They look all right but I did it much better. Oh--by the way--you mustn't think these are the only clothes I've got. I have a very smart tailor-made coat and skirt which I bought at a sale at a little shop in Brixton. I went to Brixton for the season. There's nothing like the suburbs for real style--I mean real, thoroughly English style. And the funny part is that the suburban English dresses all come from Vienna. Isn't it queer?'