down and worked, and the idea came at once to life, complete, without
the necessity of other human co-operation! They did not sit in front of
a painting or etching and say, as architects had too often to say in
front of their designs: "That is wasted! That will never come into
being." Architecture might be the art of arts, and indeed it was, but
there were terrible drawbacks to it....

And next he was outside in the dark with Marguerite Haim, and new,
intensified sensations thrilled him. She was very marvellous in the
dark.

Mr. Haim had not returned.

"Well!" she muttered; and then dreamily: "What a funny little man Mr.
Prince is, isn't he?" She spoke condescendingly.

"Anyhow," said George, who had been respecting Mr. Alfred Prince,
"anyhow, I'm glad you didn't go to the concert with him."

"Why?" she asked, with apparent simplicity. "I adore the Proms. Don't
you?"

"Let's go, then," he suggested. "We shan't be very late, and what else
is there for you to do?"

His audacity frightened him. There she stood with him in the porch,
silent, reflective. She would never go. For sundry practical and other
reasons she would refuse. She must refuse.

"I'll go," she said, as if announcing a well-meditated decision. He