“Sensible, as usual.  What next?”

“Well, this last and best discovery of Aunt Melville’s was undoubtedly made like our own plan to fit a particular site, and it seems beginning at the wrong end to arrange the house first and then try to find a lot to suit it.”

“I don’t see it in that light,” said Jack.  “I know the architect has been preaching the importance of adapting the plan to the lot, but if two thousand dollars are going into the land and eight thousand into the house, I should say the house is entitled to the first choice.”

“Certainly, if it was a city lot, with no character of its own, a mere rectangular piece of land shut in upon three sides and open at one.  But ours has certain strong points not to be found in any other unoccupied lot in town.  Besides, there are other reasons why it would not answer for us; but if our lot was right for it, and if we wanted so large a house, how I should enjoy building it!”

“I don’t see anything so very remarkable about the plan,” said Jack, taking up the drawings.

“My dear, short-sighted husband,” said Jill with the utmost impressiveness of tone and manner, “it is a one-story house.  ’There shall be no more stairs’ sounds almost as delightful as the scriptural promise of no more sea.  And look at the plan itself:  The great square vestibule, or reception-room, with the office at one side—­wouldn’t you enjoy that, Jack?—­then a few steps higher the big keeping-room, with a huge fireplace confronting you, and room enough for—­anything.  For games, for dancing, for a billiard table, for a grand piano, for a hammock—­or—­”

“Say a sewing machine, a spinning-wheel or something useful.”

“Anything you like, a studio or a picture gallery, for it is twice as high as the other rooms, and lighted from the roof.  At the right of this, and with such a great wide door between them that they seem like two parts of the same room, is the sitting-room, with another great fireplace in the corner, bay window and a conservatory fronting the wide entrance to the dining-room, at the farther end of which there is still another grand fireplace, with a stained-glass window above it.  These three rooms—­four, if we count the conservatory—­are just as near perfection as possible.  Then see the long line of chambers, closets and dressing-rooms running around the south and east sides, every one with a southern window, and all communicating with the corridor that leads from the keeping-room, yet sufficiently united to form a complete family suite.  The first floor—­I mean the one floor—­is five or six feet from the ground, so there can be no dampness in the rooms—­and just think what a cellar!  Altogether too much for us.”

“Indeed, there isn’t.  I’d have a bowling alley, a skating rink, a machine shop, a tennis court, and—­a rifle range.  Yes, it is a taking plan, but there are two things that I don’t understand.  How can you cover such a big box, and where is the cooking to be done?”