other architect," said another voice,
"whether you consider it professional or reasonable----?"

"As a brother architect," replied Beevor, as Ventimore opened the door,
"I would rather be excused from giving an opinion.... Ah, here is Mr.
Ventimore himself."

Horace entered, to find himself confronted by Mr. Wackerbath, whose face
was purple and whose white whiskers were bristling with rage. "So, sir!"
he began. "So, sir!----" and choked ignominiously.

"There appears to have been some misunderstanding, my dear Ventimore,"
explained Beevor, with a studious correctness which was only a shade
less offensive than open triumph. "I think I'd better leave you and this
gentleman to talk it over quietly."

"Quietly?" exclaimed Mr. Wackerbath, with an apoplectic snort;
"_quietly!!_"

"I've no idea what you are so excited about, sir," said Horace. "Perhaps
you will explain?"

"Explain!" Mr. Wackerbath gasped; "why--no, if I speak just now, I shall
be ill: _you_ tell him," he added, waving a plump hand in Beevor's
direction.

"I'm not in possession of all the facts," said Beevor, smoothly; "but,
so far as I can gather, this gentleman thinks that, considering the
importance of the work he intrusted to your hands, you have given less
time to it than he might have expected. As I have told him, that is a
matter which does not concern me, and which he must discuss with you."

So saying, Beevor retired to his own room, and shut the door with the
same irreproachable discretion, which conveyed that he was not in the
least surprised, but was too much of a gentleman to show it.

"Well, Mr. Wackerbath," began Horace, when they were alone, "so you're
disappointed with the house?"

"Disappointed!" said Mr. Wackerbath, furiously. "I am disgusted, sir,
disgusted!"

Horace's heart sank lower still; had he deceived himself after all,
then? Had he been nothing but a conceited fool, and--most galling
thought of all--had Beevor judged him only too accurately? And yet, no,
he could not believe it--he _knew_ his work was good!

"This is plain speaking with a vengeance," he said; "I'm sorry you're
dissatisfied. I did my best to carry out your instructions."

"Oh, you did?" sputtered Mr. Wackerbath. "That's what you call--but go
on, sir, _go_ on!"

"I got it done as quickly as possible," continued Horace, "because I
understood you wished no time to be lost."

"No one can accuse you of dawdling over it. What I should like to know
is ho