"Leaving the house is not the worst of the sacrifice," answered Mrs.
Vanborough. "If John finds Hampstead too far for him from London,
of course we must move. The only hardship that I complain of is the
hardship of having the house to let."

Mr. Vanborough looked across the table, as ungraciously as possible, at
his wife.

"What have _you_ to do with it?" he asked.

Mrs. Vanborough tried to clear the conjugal horizon b y a smile.

"My dear John," she said, gently, "you forget that, while you are at
business, I am here all day. I can't help seeing the people who come to
look at the house. Such people!" she continued, turning to Mr. Kendrew.
"They distrust every thing, from the scraper at the door to the chimneys
on the roof. They force their way in at all hours. They ask all sorts
of impudent questions--and they show you plainly that they don't mean to
believe your answers, before you have time to make them. Some wretch
of a woman says, 'Do you think the drains are right?'--and sniffs
suspiciously, before I can say Yes. Some brute of a man asks, 'Are you
quite sure this house is solidly built, ma'am?'--and jumps on the floor
at the full stretch of his legs, without waiting for me to reply. Nobody
believes in our gravel soil and our south aspect. Nobody wants any of
our improvements. The moment they hear of John's Artesian well, they
look as if they never drank water. And, if they happen to pass my
poultry-yard, they instantly lose all appreciation of the merits of a
fresh egg!"

Mr. Kendrew laughed. "I have been through it all in my time," he said.