and Killian Melville was not the architect, but some other fellow put forward by milord. The plans were given to Lambert and he was cock-a-hoop with excitement. He seemed on the brink of stepping into a circle he had previously barely dreamed of. He was man of the world enough to know his rough origins would never allow him to be accepted in such society ordinarily. Mrs. Lambert, on the other hand, has all the bearing of a lady; whether that is bred in her or learned, no one knows. Women seem to acquire these things more easily. It is in their nature to adapt. I daresay it has to be!"
Monk did not comment. His mouth was full.
"She is a remarkably pretty woman, and has the art to please without ever seeming to seek to or to be overeager," Mr. Burnham continued. "And yet in her own way she is a perfectionist too, an artist in domestic detail, a woman who can create an air of grace and luxury so natural it appears always to have been there." He watched Monk to assure himself he understood, and was apparently satisfied.
The first course was finished and treacle tart was offered with cream. Monk accepted with undisguised pleasure, and Mr. Burnham beamed at him in delight. He gave Florence a teaspoonful of cream.
"You may imagine," he said, resuming his tale, "Mrs. Lambert's happiness when milord's only son took a marked fancy to her only daughter, a charming, high-spirited girl, not yet of marriageable age but fast approaching it. In a couple of years the two families could have made a most acceptable arrangement, and in due course young Miss Lambert would have become a lady in every sense of the word, the chatelaine of one of the finest country seats in England."
"But something spoiled it?" Monk was now truly interested.
"Indeed," Mr. Burnham agreed, without losing a shred of his satisfaction. He was quite obviously not on the brink of recounting a tragedy. "Indeed it did." He leaned forward across the table, his face gleaming in the candlelight and the reflected glow of the spring evening beyond the tall window. "This hall was to be magnificent," he repeated urgently. "Lambert was enthralled with the idea. He took the plans and drawings home with him and pored over them like a man studying holy writ. He was alight with the idea. After all, it is a kind of immortality, is it not? A work of art which can last a thousand years or longer. Do we not still revere the man who designed the Parthenon? Do we not travel halfway around the world like pilgrims to gaze on its beauty and dream of the minds who thought it up, the genius which brought it into reality, even the men and women who daily passed beneath it in their ordinary lives?" He gazed at Monk steadily.
Monk nodded. Words were not necessary.
"He sat up night after night reading those plans," Mr. Burnham said in little above a whisper. "And he found a flaw in them... a fatal flaw! At first he could hardly believe it-he could not bear to! It was the shattering of his dreams. And not only his, but his wife's as well, and such possible future happiness for his daughter; although that, of course, was less problematical. She was a very charming girl and would no doubt find other suitors. I don't think it was a matter of the heart- at least not deeply." He smiled with some indulgence. "Shall we say a touch of glamour, to which we are most of us susceptible?"
"But Lambert chose to decline the building?" Monk concluded, eating the last piece of his treacle tart. It was an illuminating story, although not helpful to his cause. It said much of Barton Lambert but shed no light upon Melville's reason for abandoning Zillah.
"Yes... much to milord's anger," Mr. Burnham agreed. "Lambert's withdrawal provoked questions, and the flaws in the plan were exposed. Reputations were damaged."
"Lambert made powerful enemies?" It was hardly a motive for Melville's act, but he had to press every point.
"Oh no, my dear fellow," Mr. Burnham said with a broad smile. "On the contrary, he came out of it rather well. We may be a society with our share of sycophants and hypocrites, but there are still many who admire an honest man. It was milord who suffered."
"I see."
"You look disappointed," Mr. Burnham observed, regarding Monk keenly. "What had you hoped?"