It was quite true,—­now that we were ready to build the home that had been deferred so long, now that I had the money to spend without stint on its construction, the irony of life had deprived me of those strong desires and predilections I had known on my wedding trip.  What a joy it would have been to build then!  But now I found myself:  wholly lacking in definite ideas as to style and construction.  Secretly, I looked forward to certain luxuries, such as a bedroom and dressing-room and warm tiled bathroom all to myself bachelor privacies for which I had longed.  Two mornings later at the breakfast table Maude asked me if I had thought of an architect.

“Why, Archie Lammerton, I suppose.  Who else is there?  Have you anyone else in mind?”

“N-no,” said Maude.  “But I heard of such a clever man in Boston, who doesn’t charge Mr. Lammerton’s prices; and who designs such beautiful private houses.”

“But we can afford to pay Lammerton’s prices,” I replied, smiling.  “And why shouldn’t we have the best?”

“Are you sure—­he is the best, Hugh?”

“Everybody has him,” I said.

Maude smiled in return.

“I suppose that’s a good reason,” she answered.

“Of course it’s a good reason,” I assured her.  “These people—­the people we know—­wouldn’t have had Lammerton unless he was satisfactory.  What’s the matter with his houses?”

“Well,” said Maude, “they’re not very original.  I don’t say they’re not good, in away, but they lack a certain imagination.  It’s difficult for me to express what I mean, ‘machine made’ isn’t precisely the idea, but there should be a certain irregularity in art—­shouldn’t there?  I saw a reproduction in one of the architectural journals of a house in Boston by a man named Frey, that seemed to me to have great charm.”

Here was Lucia, unmistakably.

“That’s all very well,” I said impatiently, “but when one has to live in a house, one wants something more than artistic irregularity.  Lammerton knows how to build for everyday existence; he’s a practical man, as well as a man of taste, he may not be a Christopher Wrenn, but he understands conveniences and comforts.  His chimneys don’t smoke, his windows are tight, he knows what systems of heating are the best, and whom to go to:  he knows what good plumbing is.  I’m rather surprised you don’t appreciate that, Maude, you’re so particular as to what kind of rooms the children shall have, and you want a schoolroom-nursery with all the latest devices, with sun and ventilation.  The Berringers wouldn’t have had him, the Hollisters and Dickinsons wouldn’t have had him if his work lacked taste.”

“And Nancy wouldn’t have had him,” added Maude, and she smiled once more.

“Well, I haven’t consulted Nancy, or anyone else,” I replied—­a little tartly, perhaps.  “You don’t seem to realize that some fashions may have a basis of reason.  They are not all silly, as Lucia seems to think.  If Lammerton builds satisfactory houses, he ought to be forgiven for being the fashion, he ought to have a chance.”  I got up to leave.  “Let’s see what kind of a plan he’ll draw up, at any rate.”