said wearily.

"Pretty horrible," he agreed, "but there's an amazing lot of unseen
goodness hidden in the dirt.... Men aren't so bad ... some men. But
we're getting too serious. I must be off. It's been a bad morning's work
for me." He smiled--not very whole-heartedly, but still he smiled. "You
refuse both my offers. But you'll let me know if I can ever do anything,
won't you? That's merely friendly."

Beatrice did not smile, but she looked appreciatively at him.

"Thanks, Ashford," she said. "Yes; I've just remembered one thing you
can do. Read a play by a friend of mine."

He groaned in comic despair.

"All right!" he said, "but don't make me promise to produce it. Remember
this is my living!"

"No; I only want you to read it. If it's bad, say so like a man: don't
put the poor wretch off with the usual sugary criticism. And don't let
it lie for months with all the rest of the lumber. You managers are
cruel to authors, and you've had this one lying idle a long time."

He did not deny the charge, save by a smile.

"I'll read it this week, sure," he said. "What's it called, and who's
the author?"

"I forget the name of the play. The author is a Mr. Mortimer."

She said the name quite easily and without a blush, but Billing on the
instant thought, "Who the devil is he? And what does she want to push
his play for?" But he did not allow his face even to hint at surprise.
He just held out his hand and said good-by, as naturally as if he had
not been rejected without any hope of a future recantation. For though
he professed optimism, in his heart he felt that Beatrice was not for
him, and the knowledge hurt.

"Good-by," he said cheerily. "Mind you have a good holiday, and come
back to work soon."

"Good-by, Ashford," she said, trying to keep back some unnecessary
tears. She had known him for some time and guessed what he was thinking.
He, she was sure, was at least one of the men who tried. "You're a good
sort. Good-by."

Then she telephoned to a garage: "I want my car at two o'clock!"

CHAPTER XIV

A RISE IN THE WORLD

The Happy Heart was an ideal resting-place for a tired man, whether town
or country-bred. To the former it made the stronger appeal, for there
could be no greater contrast than between The Happy Heart and the
flaring brazen public-houses which offer solace to the dwellers of the
pavement. These attract by their fierce pledges of light, warmth and the
stimulated oblivion of the mome