The Forsyte Saga John Galsworthy (hot novels to read TXT) đ
- Author: John Galsworthy
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Soames, the unconscious ironist, fixed his gaze on Bosinneyâs tie, which was far from being in the perpendicular; he was unshaven too, and his dress not remarkable for order. Architecture appeared to have exhausted his regularity.
âWonât it look like a barrack?â he inquired.
He did not at once receive a reply.
âI can see what it is,â said Bosinney, âyou want one of Littlemasterâs housesâ âone of the pretty and commodious sort, where the servants will live in garrets, and the front door be sunk so that you may come up again. By all means try Littlemaster, youâll find him a capital fellow, Iâve known him all my life!â
Soames was alarmed. He had really been struck by the plans, and the concealment of his satisfaction had been merely instinctive. It was difficult for him to pay a compliment. He despised people who were lavish with their praises.
He found himself now in the embarrassing position of one who must pay a compliment or run the risk of losing a good thing. Bosinney was just the fellow who might tear up the plans and refuse to act for him; a kind of grown-up child!
This grown-up childishness, to which he felt so superior, exercised a peculiar and almost mesmeric effect on Soames, for he had never felt anything like it in himself.
âWell,â he stammered at last, âitâsâ âitâs, certainly original.â
He had such a private distrust and even dislike of the word âoriginalâ that he felt he had not really given himself away by this remark.
Bosinney seemed pleased. It was the sort of thing that would please a fellow like that! And his success encouraged Soames.
âItâsâ âa big place,â he said.
âSpace, air, light,â he heard Bosinney murmur, âyou canât live like a gentleman in one of Littlemasterâsâ âhe builds for manufacturers.â
Soames made a deprecating movement; he had been identified with a gentleman; not for a good deal of money now would he be classed with manufacturers. But his innate distrust of general principles revived. What the deuce was the good of talking about regularity and self-respect? It looked to him as if the house would be cold.
âIrene canât stand the cold!â he said.
âAh!â said Bosinney sarcastically. âYour wife? She doesnât like the cold? Iâll see to that; she shanât be cold. Look here!â he pointed, to four marks at regular intervals on the walls of the court. âIâve given you hot-water pipes in aluminium casings; you can get them with very good designs.â
Soames looked suspiciously at these marks.
âItâs all very well, all this,â he said, âbut whatâs it going to cost?â
The architect took a sheet of paper from his pocket:
âThe house, of course, should be built entirely of stone, but, as I thought you wouldnât stand that, Iâve compromised for a facing. It ought to have a copper roof, but Iâve made it green slate. As it is, including metal work, itâll cost you eight thousand five hundred.â
âEight thousand five hundred?â said Soames. âWhy, I gave you an outside limit of eight!â
âCanât be done for a penny less,â replied Bosinney coolly.
âYou must take it or leave it!â
It was the only way, probably, that such a proposition could have been made to Soames. He was nonplussed. Conscience told him to throw the whole thing up. But the design was good, and he knew itâ âthere was completeness about it, and dignity; the servantsâ apartments were excellent too. He would gain credit by living in a house like thatâ âwith such individual features, yet perfectly well-arranged.
He continued poring over the plans, while Bosinney went into his bedroom to shave and dress.
The two walked back to Montpellier Square in silence, Soames watching him out of the corner of his eye.
The Buccaneer was rather a good-looking fellowâ âso he thoughtâ âwhen he was properly got up.
Irene was bending over her flowers when the two men came in.
She spoke of sending across the Park to fetch June.
âNo, no,â said Soames, âweâve still got business to talk over!â
At lunch he was almost cordial, and kept pressing Bosinney to eat. He was pleased to see the architect in such high spirits, and left him to spend the afternoon with Irene, while he stole off to his pictures, after his Sunday habit. At teatime he came down to the drawing-room, and found them talking, as he expressed it, nineteen to the dozen.
Unobserved in the doorway, he congratulated himself that things were taking the right turn. It was lucky she and Bosinney got on; she seemed to be falling into line with the idea of the new house.
Quiet meditation among his pictures had decided him to spring the five hundred if necessary; but he hoped that the afternoon might have softened Bosinneyâs estimates. It was so
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