"I helped in bucking the men up and getting things done?" "Very," said Ben. "And you don't dislike me?" "Not particularly," said Ben. "Well," said Mr. Harford, "what I was thinking is that you and I might do very well in partnership." Ben flushed. "No," he said quickly. "I don't mean what you think I mean--at any rate not at the moment. But you're not engaged, are you?" "No," said Ben. "Thank Heaven!" said Mr. Harford fervently. "But look here, Miss Staveley, I swear I didn't ask you here to ask you that. It was sprung on me. I swear I didn't. You believe me, won't you?" Ben expressed her belief. "When I said 'partnership,'" he resumed, "I meant business partnership, although---- When I said partnership I meant business partnership. Because it seems to me that you and I could do a lot of things together very profitably. You could get this kind of commission again--old Corbet is probably singing your praises all over the place to other impulsive and rich Americans, and that will mean business--and I could act as your overseer." "But what about 'The Booklovers' Rest'?" Ben asked. "Well, Pat would run that; or, if need be, I'd retire. You know, Miss Staveley, speaking in strict confidence, I don't believe I'm a born book seller. Honest, I don't." Ben laughed. "What a wonderful discovery to have made!" she said. "But," he went on, quite gravely, "I do believe I have a _flair_ for getting the best out of people under me." "There won't always be a trout stream," said Ben. "Now you're making fun of me," he said. "I'm really serious. I feel all tied up and congested in that shop among mouldy books. It's all right for Pat--he's a literary cove, and his one desire is to read books and write them." "Does he want to write?" Ben asked. "I didn't know that." "Oh, yes," said Mr. Harford; "that's his one ambition. But he can't afford to. He has to make a living. If he were rich he'd chuck book selling to-morrow and take to authorship; and he'd be jolly good too. I'd have my money in the business whatever happened. My mother is always good for more. But what do you say?" "Well," said Ben, "I can't say anything very definite. We must wait till another Mr. Barclay Corbet comes along and then we might make some arrangement; but I think to talk of--of partnership is rather premature." "But you don't hate me?" Mr. Harford asked anxiously. "I said I didn't," Ben replied. "I wish you could see my mother," he said. "She's splendid. But she lives rather a long way off--at Laycock. I suppose you wouldn't come down for a week-end? It is a delicious place, a little like Bibury, as a matter of fact. All grey too. Would you?" "I don't see how I could," said Ben. "No," said Mr. Harford. "I was afraid not." He left her at her door. She gave him her hand. "Good evening, O'Reilly, You _are_ looking glum," she sang. "No wonder," he said, and turned away. Ben stood at the door long enough to see him stoop down and pat Soul's head.