to a part of it near the Regent's Park; and so our letters were always,
according to the divisions of the post-office, addressed to Regent's Park,
but for all practical intents we were in Camden Town. It was indeed a
change from a fine old house in the country; but the street wasn't much
uglier than Belgrave Square, or any other of those heaps of uglinesses,
called squares, in the West End; and, after what I had been told to expect,
I was surprised at the prettiness of the little house, when I stepped out
of the cab and looked about me. It was stuck on like a swallow's nest to
the end of a great row of commonplace houses, nearly a quarter of a mile in
length, but itself was not the work of one of those wretched builders who
care no more for beauty in what they build than a scavenger in the heap of
mud he scrapes from the street. It had been built by a painter for himself,
in the Tudor style; and though Percivale says the idea is not very well
carried out, I like it much.

I found it a little dreary when I entered though,--from its emptiness.
The only sitting-room at all prepared had just a table and two or three
old-fashioned chairs in it; not even a carpet on the floor. The bedroom and
dressing-room were also as scantily furnished as they well could be.

"Don't be dismayed, my darling," said my husband.

"Look here,"--showing me a bunch of notes,--"we shall go out to-morrow and
buy all we want,--as far as this will go,--and then wait for the rest. It
will be such a pleasure to buy the things with you, and see them come home,
and have you appoint their places. You and Sarah will make the carpets;
won't you? And I will put them down, and we shall be like birds building
their nest."

"We have only to line it; the nest is built already."