every few days? And now we're ready to build, and haven't any ideas at
all!"

"Yes," I answered--but I did not look at her.

"I have the book still--it's in the attic somewhere, packed away in a
box. I suppose those plans would seem ridiculous now."

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?"