sh and singularly inconsequent; Peter, of course, was only a boy,
though such a dear, kind, affectionate boy. He would spend his evenings
teasing the kitten and retying the blue bow, or lying on the rug before
the fire, talking nonsense which made Rhoda laugh even when she was
feeling low. Sometimes they would go to Brook Street and spend the
evening there; and often Hilary would drop in and smoke with Peter;
only Rhoda didn't much care for these evenings, for she never felt at
ease with Hilary, who wasn't at ease with her either. The uncultured
young creatures of either sex never quite knew where they were with the
aesthetic Hilary; at any moment they might tread heavily on his sensitive
susceptibilities and make him wince visibly, and no one likes being
winced at. Rhoda in particular was very sensitive; she thought Hilary
ill-mannered and conceited, and vaguely resented his attitude towards her
without understanding it, for (now that she was removed from the crushing
influence of a person who had always ruthlessly shown her her limitations
and follies) she didn't think of herself as uncultured, she with her
poetical and artistic tastes, sharpened and refined by contact with the
culture of Guy Vyvian and broadened by acquaintance with the art of
foreign cities. On the contrary, she felt in herself yearnings for a
fuller and freer life of beauty and grace. She wasn't sure that Peter
ever felt such yearnings; he seemed quite contented with the ugly rooms
in the ugly street, and the dingy lace curtains and impossible pictures;
he could make a joke of it all; and things one could make a joke of
couldn't really hurt, thought Rhoda.

But anyhow, cramped and squalid and dingy though 9 Greville Street might
be, it held security and peace.

"The Snuggery, that's what we call it at fifty-one," said Miss Clegson,
who sometimes looked in to rally them.

Fifty-one was getting less of a snuggery than ever. Fifty-one, Peter
feared, was going down the hill. The Berovieri goblet had made a little
piece of level road for it, but that was soon over, and the descent began
again. Peggy, try as she would, could not make both ends meet. Hilary,
despise his job as he might, found it slipping from him more and more.
Week by week he seemed to earn a little less; week by week they seemed to
spend a little more. Peggy, as Hilary had frequently remarked, was _not_
a good manager. One or two of the boarders left, to seek more commodious
quarters