minutes' walk from the station) was a grotesque, little red-faced
abode, situated among a tangle of villas and roads. It stood detached
in a garden, with--O! theme of pride--a full-sized tennis court. There
were also several flower beds, and six unhappy gooseberry bushes, but
_the_ feature was the lawn; here also were seats and a small striped
awning. The grounds of "Monte Carlo" were only divided from its
immediate neighbours by a thin wooden partition--there was no such
thing as privacy or seclusion. Conversation was audible, and the
boisterous jokes of "Chatsworth" and "Travancore" were thoroughly
enjoyed at "Monte Carlo." In the same way "Monte Carlo" overheard
various interesting items of news, some sharp quarrels and, once or
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 _passée_
beauty, was to be seen at its best by candle-light.

The dining-room was chiefly notable for the heavy atmosphere of