twice, unpleasant personal truths! On the last occasion, the remark
was so unfriendly (it dealt with Cossie's methods) that when
"Chatsworth," ignorant of offence, sent the same evening an emissary to
borrow three pints of stout, the reply was a harsh refusal!

Within doors space was naturally more contracted, but the click of the
opposite gate, the sound of the next door dinner-bell and gramophone
remained, as it were, common property! The tiny hall was choked with
umbrellas, wraps, tennis shoes, and tattered sixpenny books; the
drawing-room, with its pink casement curtains, gaudy cretonne covers,
huge signed photographs, jars of dusty artificial bowers, packs of
dingy cards, and scraps of millinery, looked "lived in"--but tawdry and
untidy. The big Chesterfield sofa--a wonderful bargain--had broken
springs (perhaps it was not such a wonderful bargain?) and many hills
and hollows. In the roomiest of these last the mistress of the house
was more or less a fixture, and the whole apartment, like a _passee_
beauty, was to be seen at its best by candle-light.

The dining-room was chiefly notable for the heavy atmosphere of
tobacco, and multitudes of empty black bottles under the sideboard.
The kitchen, both in sound and smell, absolutely refused to be ignored.
Such was "Monte Carlo!"

The inmates of "Malahide" have received honourable mention, but nothing
has been said of Mrs. Malone, the proprietress, who kept the
establishment running, as it were, on well-oiled wheels. Joyce Malone
was an Irishwoman who had met with cruel reverses. Well born, well
educated, and an almost penniless widow, she thankfully accepted the
post of housekeeper in a nobleman's family, and there remained until
her savings, and a timely legacy, enabled her to set up for herself.
From the first she had met with success. Her terms were moderate;
butter, eggs and poultry came from her native land; there was no
skimping of coals, or hot water; and clients--who became
permanent--flocked to "Malahide." In appearance Mrs. Malone was a tall
old woman, with a stoop, who shuffled a little as she walked, and
always wore a black gown, a gold Indian chain, and a white lace cap
with ribbon bows. She kept severely aloof from her guests and had her
own little lair on the second landing. It was, she said, "her business
to see to domestic matters, and not to gossip or play bridge."
Nevertheless, she had her favourites: Mr. Hutton and young Shafto.
(Envy