"Do you happen to know of any pretty good boarding-house? I say _pretty_ good, because it has to be pretty cheap, too. The place I'm at now is a nightmare. They're always frying onions. And the star-boarder is a haberdashery clerk. He looks like an advertisement of ready-made clothes and talks out of the side of his mouth in what he thinks is an English accent. He's always talking to me about the squabs on his staff." "What is a squab?" she asked. "I'm not quite sure, but I think it's a wholly imaginary creature much taken by the charms of haberdashery clerks." "I see. I don't think of any place now. Unless--" She hesitated doubtfully. "Unless what?" "My aunt has a third-story room that is empty. It's a very nice room, though it isn't furnished now. There are only two other roomers, who are very quiet and never bother any one. We never fry onions and there is a pretty good boarding-house only a block away. You could get your meals there." "It sounds like the very thing. I could furnish the room myself with some of my stuff that's in storage. And-- Do you happen to live there?" "I happen to. Of course, if that's an objection--" She laughed. "Would you let me set my door on a crack when you sing?" She nodded. "Since you'd probably do it anyhow!" "Then I think I could waive that objection. Would you mind speaking to your aunt about it?" "This very night," she said. That is how David went to live under the same roof that sheltered Esther Summers. It seemed a harmless arrangement. He saw her very rarely there. In the morning he left the house before she did, at the end of the day stayed longer at the office; not by intention but because his work called for longer hours. In the evening she stayed with her faded old aunt in their part of the house. The other roomers were as quiet and exclusive as the prospectus had promised. So David, in his new quarters--pleasant enough once his things had been installed--was left alone with his books, his letters to Shirley and his work for the successful Dick Holden.