She was a pretty girl despite the layers of grease paint necessary to accentuate the lights and shadows of her piquant face.  Her manner with men was free without being bold.  With a big parasol over her shoulder, she adapted her step to Lawford’s and they strolled nearer.

Bane was speaking of the script he had previously mentioned as containing a part eminently fitted for Louise.  As Lawford and Miss Louder passed he said: 

“I am sure you can do well in that part, Miss Grayling.  It is exactly your style.”

Had Lawford any previous reason for doubting Louise Grayling’s connection with the moving picture industry this overheard remark would have lulled such a doubt to sleep.

The young man realized well enough that Louise was a very different girl from the blithe young woman at his side.  But how could he make I. Tapp see it?

Money was not everything in the world; Lawford Tapp was far from thinking it was.  He had always considered it of much less importance than the things one could exchange it for.

However, never having felt the necessity for working for mere pelf, and being untrained for any form of industry whatsoever, his father’s threat of disowning him loomed a serious menace to the young man.

Not for himself did Lawford fear.  He felt warm blood in his veins, vigor in his muscles, a keen edge to his nerves.  He could work—­preferably with his hands.  He realized quite fully his limitation of brain power.

But what right had he to ask any girl to share his lot—­especially a girl like Louise Grayling, who he supposed won a sufficient livelihood in a profession the emoluments of which must be far greater than those of any trade he might seek to follow?

He saw now that after his somewhat desultory college course, his months of loafing about on sea and shore had actually unfitted him for concentration upon any ordinary work.  And he was not sanguine enough to expect an extraordinary situation to come his way.

Then, too, the young man realized that Louise Grayling had not given him the least encouragement to lead him to believe that she thought of him at all.  At this moment her preference for Bane’s society seemed marked.  Already Cecile had rasped Lawford regarding the leading man’s attentions to Louise.

Lawford could not face the taunting glances of Marian and Prue.  They had come down to the beach on this particular morning he felt sure to comment—­and not kindly—­upon Louise Grayling.  He hoped that she was not included in the director’s plans for the day, and he was glad to see that she had no make-up on, as had these other young women.

So he strolled on grimly with Miss Louder, who would not be called for work for an hour.  But the young man heard little of her chatter.

The tide was at the ebb and the two walked on at the edge of the splashing surf, where the strand was almost as firm as a cement walk.  The curve of the beach took them toward the lighthouse and here, approaching with bucket and clam hoe along the flats, was the very lightkeeper who had watched the Merry Andrew and her crew the day, before when Lawford met with his accident.