"The decent ones don't, but even they sometimes have a bit of a struggle. Take an extreme case: suppose a decent chap gets engaged, and force of circumstances keeps him apart from his divinity for ... years...."
"He ought to feel bound in honor not even to think of another!" flashed Beatrice.
Billing sighed.
"He ought, but he's up against a tough proposition. At least, the decent one tries...."
"Men are horrible," she 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!"