Bridget coughed in an impressive fashion which was intended to say, "Better class! Hark to that now! That's the place for us!" As for me, I was torn between amusement at the rank snobbery of it all, and a tender pity for the pathos that lay behind! Poor strugglers, clinging on to the fringe of society, squeezing out the extra pounds so badly needed for necessities, for--what? The satisfaction of seeing a certain word written on an envelope, or of impressing a shop assistant with its sound. In some cases no doubt there were deeper reasons than snobbishness, and it was thought of them which supplied the pathos. Some careworn men and women had weighed that extra rent in the balance, and had considered that it was "worth while," since a good address might prove an asset in the difficult fight for existence, or perchance some loved one far away had vicariously suffered in past privations, and might be deluded into believing in a false prosperity by the high-sounding address. My ready imagination pictured the image of an invalid mother contentedly informing her neighbours: "My daughter has moved to Kensington. Yes! Such a charming neighbourhood. The gardens, you know. _And_ the royal palace!" Five pounds a year might be worthily expended on such a gain as this! Well, there seemed nothing for it but to prospect Weltham Mansions at once, so we chartered yet another taxi, and hurried off without delay to have daylight for our inspection. We drove for miles, through streets at first wide and handsome, then growing ever dingier and more "decayed". Is there anything in the world more depressing than a third-rate English suburb? I can imagine being poor contentedly in almost every other land--in India, for instance, I know of impecunious couples who have lived in two tents beneath two mango trees with comfort and enjoyment, but it takes a super Mark Tapley to enjoy poverty in London! We had left the gardens a long way behind before at long last we reached a block of dull red buildings, the various doorways of which were decorated with different letters and numbers. A 1 to 40--C 41 to 80--D 81 to 120--etcetera, etcetera. The windows were flat, giving a prison-like effect to the exterior, and I was just saying devoutly to myself, "Thank goodness, _that's_ not--" when the taxi stopped, and my eyes caught the fateful letters carved on a dull grey stone!