“How do you know?” asked my sister, witheringly.  “You never waited for any.”

The next day we moved.  Everybody said our rooms were charming, and that they were cheap, for I told how much we paid, much to my sister’s disgust.  She is such a lady.

“We have cut down our expenses so much,” I said, looking around on the drab walls and the dun-colored carpets, “don’t you think we might have a few flowers?”

“I believe you took this place for the balcony, so that you could put daisies around the edge and in the window-boxes!” she cried.

“No, I didn’t.  But the houses in London are so pretty with their flowers.  Don’t you think we might have a few?”

“Well, go and get them.  I’ve got to write the home letter to-day if it is to catch the Southampton boat.”

I came home with six huge palms, two June roses, some pink heather, a jar of marguerites, and I had ordered the balcony and window-boxes filled.  My sister helped me to place them, but when her back was turned I arranged them over again.  I can’t tie a veil on the way she can, but I can arrange flowers to look—­well, I won’t boast.

Our landladies were two middle-aged, comfortable sisters.  We called them “The Tabbies,” meaning no disrespect to cats, either.  I thought they took rather too violent an interest in our affairs, but I said nothing until one day after we had been settled nearly a week.  I was seated in my own private room trying to write.  My sister came in, evidently disturbed by something.

“Do you know,” she said, “that our landlady just asked me how much you paid for those strawberries?  And when I told her she said that that made them come to fourpence apiece, and that they were very dear.  Now, how did she know that they were strawberries, or how many were in each box, I’d like to know?”

“Probably she opened the package,” I said.

“Exactly what I think.  Now I won’t stand that.  And then she asked me not to set things on the mahogany tables.  It’s just because we are Americans!  She never would dare treat English people that way.  She has not sufficient respect for us.”

“Then tell her to be more respectful; tell her we are very highly thought of at home.”

“She wouldn’t care for that.”

“Then tell her we have a few rich relations and quite a number of influential friends.”

“Pooh!”

“And if that does not fetch her, there is nothing left to do but to be quite rude to her, and then she will know that we belong to the very highest society.  But what do you care what a middle-class landlady thinks, just so she lets you alone?”

My sister meditated, and I added: 

“If you would just snub her once, in your most ladylike way, it would settle her.  As for me, I am satisfied to think we are paying much less, and we are twice as comfortable as we were at the hotel; and we get such good things to eat that our skeletons are filling out, and once more our clothes fit.”