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“How’s that?”

“The top floor has many advantages, including the fact that it can be defended better than another floor, and also that nobody has any business on your stairs.”

He was getting up as he said this. He waited a moment, said, “We’ll run across each other in a day or two. Good luck with your flat.”

He nodded, and was gone.

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Next morning Himself and I breakfasted early and went flat hunting. We went light-heartedly, not knowing what was before us. I had started with some idea of comfort and cleanliness: I had made up my mind that my life should be comfortable as well as interesting. But that dream was soon dispelled. The flats we saw had never seen brooms since the days of Cuchulan, a man the Irish are very fond of. We were eyed up and down by frowsy maids and dilapidated landladies.

“God knows where we’ll end if we get into any of these!” Himself exclaimed, in the middle of the hunt.

“Now, look here, my poor husband, we must get a flat. It’s the basements that have put us off. Don’t let’s look at basements, let’s just see the possibility of soap and water.”