Soames, the unconscious ironist, fixed his gaze on Bosinney's tie, which
was far from being in the perpendicular; he was unshaven too, and his
dress not remarkable for order. Architecture appeared to have exhausted
his regularity.
"Won't it look like a barrack?" he inquired.
He did not at once receive a reply.
"I can see what it is," said Bosinney, "you want one of Littlemaster's
houses--one of the pretty and commodious sort, where the servants will
live in garrets, and the front door be sunk so that you may come up
again. By all means try Littlemaster, you'll find him a capital fellow,
I've known him all my life!"
Soames was alarmed. He had really been struck by the plans, and the
concealment of his satisfaction had been merely instinctive. It was
difficult for him to pay a compliment. He despised people who were
lavish with their praises.
He found himself now in the embarrassing position of one who must pay a
compliment or run the risk of losing a good thing. Bosinney was just the
fellow who might tear up the plans and refuse to act for him; a kind of
grown-up child!
This grown-up childishness, to which he felt so superior, exercised a
peculiar and almost mesmeric effect on Soames, for he had never felt
anything like it in himself.
"Well," he stammered at last, "it's--it's, certainly original."
He had such a private distrust and even dislike of the word 'original'
that he felt he had not really given himself away by this remark.
Bosinney seemed pleased. It was the sort of thing that would please a
fellow like that! And his success encouraged Soames.
"It's--a big place," he said.
"Space, air, light," he heard Bosinney murmur, "you can't live like a
gentleman in one of Littlemaster's--he builds for manufacturers."
Soames made a deprecating movement; he had been identified with a
gentleman; not for a good deal of money now would he be classed with
manufacturers. But his innate distrust of general principles
revived. What the deuce was the good of talking about regularity and
self-respect? It looked to him as if the house would be cold.
"Irene can't stand the cold!" he said.
"Ah!" said Bosinney sarcastically. "Your wife? She doesn't like the
cold? I'll see to that; she shan't be cold. Look here!" he pointed, to
four marks at regular intervals on the walls of the court. "I've given
you hot-water pipes in aluminium casings; you can get them with very
good designs."
Soames looked suspiciously at these marks.
"It's all very well, all this," he said, "but what's it going to cost?"
The architect took a sheet of paper from his pocket: