bunch of violets, a paper of small brass screws, and finally a large, distended notebook; he replaced the other objects carefully, opened his notebook, put a pencil to his lips and said: "And what accommodation will you require?" To which Ann, who had followed his every movement with the closest attention and a deepening dread, replied with the violent suddenness of one who has long lain in wait, "Cubbuds!"
"Anyhow," she added, catching her husband's eye.
The architect wrote it down.
"And how many rooms?" he said, coming to secondary matters.
The young people regarded one another. It was dreadfully like giving an order.
"How many bedrooms, for example?" asked the architect.
"One?" suggested Kipps, inclined now to minimise at any cost.
"There's Gwendolen," said Ann.
"Visitors perhaps," said the architect, and temperately, "You never know."
"Two, p'raps?" said Kipps. "We don't want no more than a little 'ouse, you know."
"But the merest shooting-box," said the architect.
They got to six; he beat them steadily from bedroom to bedroom, the word "nursery" played across their imaginative skies—he mentioned it as the remotest possibility—and then six being reluctantly conceded, Ann came forward to the table, sat down
