"Oh, well, that may come just at any minute—anywhere, you know."
"Where did this one come?"
"Oh, I got this one, as it happens, walking on Hampstead Heath."
"Hampstead Heath! Fancy!" breathed Amabel Osling in an awed voice.
"And you went straight home and wrote it out?" asked Mildred Quain.
"Oh, I've got my office in the daytime. I can only write at nights."
"Bit of a strain!" murmured Joe.
"It is rather. Besides, one doesn't begin by writing it out, Miss Quain." He smiled in condescending pity. "One has to construct, you see."
"Yes, of course. How stupid of me!" said Mildred, rather crestfallen.
"Not a bit, Miss Quain. You naturally didn't realise"—Mr. Beverley seemed genuinely sorry if he had appeared to snub her. "And I—I should like to tell you all how much I—I feel what you're doing. Of course I believe in the thing myself, but that's no reason why—Well, I tell you I do feel it. I—I feel it really."