he went on—­and though looking at Soames he did not seem to see him, which gave Soames an unpleasant feeling—­“as in life, you’ll get no self-respect without regularity.  Fellows tell you that’s old fashioned.  It appears to be peculiar any way; it never occurs to us to embody the main principle of life in our buildings; we load our houses with decoration, gimcracks, corners, anything to distract the eye.  On the contrary the eye should rest; get your effects with a few strong lines.  The whole thing is regularity there’s no self-respect without it.”

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.”