"I always have seen a sweet place at Chelsea," remarked Harold: "ParadiseRow, No. 17,--garden--greenhouse--fifty pounds a month--omnibus totown within a mile."

"What! that I may be left alone all day, and you spend a fortune indriving backward and forward in those horrid breakneck cabs? Mydarling, I should expire there--die of fright, I know I should. Didyou not say yourself that the road was not as yet lighted, and thatthe place swarmed with public-houses and dreadful tipsy Irishbricklayers? Would you kill me, John?"