ly enough.

From the window of his dressing-room he could see them talking together
in the little court below. He hurried on with his shaving, cutting his
chin twice. He heard them laugh, and thought to himself: "Well, they get
on all right, anyway!"

As he expected, Bosinney had come round to fetch him to look at the
plans.

He took his hat and went over.

The plans were spread on the oak table in the architect's room; and
pale, imperturbable, inquiring, Soames bent over them for a long time
without speaking.

He said at last in a puzzled voice:

"It's an odd sort of house!"

A rectangular house of two stories was designed in a quadrangle round a
covered-in court. This court, encircled by a gallery on the upper floor,
was roofed with a glass roof, supported by eight columns running up from
the ground.

It was indeed, to Forsyte eyes, an odd house.

"There's a lot of room cut to waste," pursued Soames.

Bosinney began to walk about, and Soames did not like the expression on
his face.

"The principle of this house," said the architect, "was that you should
have room to breathe--like a gentleman!"

Soames extended his finger and thumb, as if measuring the extent of the
distinction he should acquire; and replied:

"Oh! yes; I see."

The peculiar look came into Bosinney's face which marked all his
enthusiasms.

"I've tried to plan you a house here with some self-respect of its own.
If you don't like it, you'd better say so. It's certainly the last
thing to be considered--who wants self-respect in a house, when you can
squeeze in an extra lavatory?" He put his finger suddenly down on the
left division of the centre oblong: "You can swing a cat here. This is
for your pictures, divided from this court by curtains; draw them
back and you'll have a space of fifty-one by twenty-three six. This
double-faced stove in the centre, here, looks one way towards the court,
one way towards the picture room; this end wall is all window; You've
a southeast light from that, a north light from the court. The rest of
your pictures you can hang round the gallery upstairs, or in the other
rooms." "In architecture," 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 build