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Updated: June 24, 2025
"Are you the genius who draws those amusing little lines and scrawls on transparent paper, Mr. Alloyd? Tell me, are they really necessary for a building, or do you only do them for your own fun? Quite between ourselves, you know! I've often wondered." Said Mr. Alloyd, with a pale smile: "Of course everyone looks on the architect as a joke!" The pause was somewhat difficult.
to be opened next Spring. Subscriptions invited. Rollo Wrissell: Senior Trustee. Ralph Alloyd: Architect. Dicks & Pato: Builders. The name of Rollo Wrissell seemed familiar to him, and after a few moments' searching he recalled that Rollo Wrissell was one of the trustees and executors of the late Lord Woldo, the other being the widow and the mother of the new Lord Woldo.
"Well, you can do the other thing!" said Edward Henry, insolent to the last. As he left the premises he found Mr. Rollo Wrissell, and his own new acquaintance, Mr. Alloyd, the architect, chatting in the portico. Mr. Wrissell was calm, bland and attentive; Mr. Alloyd was eager, excited and deferential. Edward Henry caught the words "Russian Ballet."
Alloyd, low and cautiously, with a somewhat shamed grin, "between you and me I think the play's bosh." "Come, come!" Edward Henry murmured as if in protest. The word "bosh" was almost the first word of the discussion which he had comprehended, and the honest familiar sound of it did him good. Nevertheless, keeping his presence of mind, he had forborne to welcome it openly.
"Did you ever see such scenery and costumes?" someone addressed him suddenly, when the applause had died down. It was Mr. Alloyd, who had advanced up the aisle from a back row of the stalls. "No, I never did!" Edward Henry agreed. "It's wonderful how Givington has managed to get away from the childish realism of the modern theatre," said Mr. Alloyd, "without being ridiculous."
Alloyd had no right to be aware that he was not a Londoner. "I beg your pardon." "I come from the Midlands." "Oh!... Have you seen the Russian Ballet?" Edward Henry had not nor heard of it. "Why?" he asked. "Nothing," said Mr. Alloyd. "Only I saw it the night before last in Paris. You never saw such dancing. It's enchanted enchanted! The most lovely thing I ever saw in my life.
Alloyd, in the stress of the job, had even ceased to bring the Russian Ballet into his conversations. Mr. Alloyd, despite a growing tendency to prove to Edward Henry by authentic anecdote, about midnight, his general proposition that women as a sex treated him with shameful unfairness, had gained the high esteem of Edward Henry as an architect.
I wanted the advertisement of the building.... Just my luck! Have a drink, will you?" Edward Henry ultimately went with the plaintive Mr. Alloyd to his rooms in Adelphi Terrace. He quitted those rooms at something after two o'clock in the morning. He had practically given Mr. Alloyd a definite commission to design the Regent Theatre.
"I daresay you aren't used to people like me, Miss April." "Marrier!" said he, suddenly, with a bluff, humorous downrightness, "you know you're in a very awkward position here, and you know you've got to see Alloyd for me before six o'clock. Be off with you. I will be responsible for Miss April." And he did in fact succeed in dismissing Mr.
"Alloyd, the architect," Edward Henry answered, and then calling loud, "Come up here, Alloyd." The muffled and coated figure approached, hesitated, and then joined the other two in the cage. "Let me introduce Mr. Alloyd, the architect Sir John Pilgrim," said Edward Henry. "Ah!" said Sir John, bending towards Alloyd.
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