"You are only twenty-six and you call yourself a failure? I think that is a shameful thing to say."
"What would you call a man of twenty-six whose only means of making a living was the writing of Gridley Quayle stories—an empire builder?"
"How do you know it's your only means of making a living? Why don't you try something new?"
"Such as?"
"How should I know? Anything that comes along. Good gracious, Mr. Marson; here you are in the biggest city in the world, with chances for adventure simply shrieking to you on every side."
"I must be deaf. The only thing I have heard shrieking to me on every side has been Mrs. Bell—for the week's rent."
"Read the papers. Read the advertisement columns. I'm sure you will find something sooner or later. Don't get into a groove. Be an adventurer. Snatch at the next chance, whatever it is."
Ashe nodded.
"Continue," he said. "Proceed. You are stimulating me."
"But why should you want a girl like me to stimulate you? Surely London is enough to do it without my help? You can always find something new, surely? Listen, Mr. Marson. I was thrown on my own resources about five years ago—never mind how. Since then I have worked in a shop, done typewriting, been on the stage, had a position as governess, been a lady's maid—"