because he had so petty a feeling, but three or four
days’ firmness, during which he would not go
to the shop, did not help him to surmount it; and
he came to the conclusion that it would be least trouble
to see her. Having done so he would certainly
cease to think of her. Pretexting an appointment
one afternoon, for he was not a little ashamed of
his weakness, he left Dunsford and went straight to
the shop which he had vowed never again to enter.
He saw the waitress the moment he came in and sat
down at one of her tables. He expected her to
make some reference to the fact that he had not been
there for a week, but when she came up for his order
she said nothing. He had heard her say to other
customers:
“You’re quite a stranger.”
She gave no sign that she had ever seen him before.
In order to see whether she had really forgotten him,
when she brought his tea, he asked:
“Have you seen my friend tonight?”
“No, he’s not been in here for some days.”
He wanted to use this as the beginning of a conversation,
but he was strangely nervous and could think of nothing
to say. She gave him no opportunity, but at once
went away. He had no chance of saying anything
till he asked for his bill.
“Filthy weather, isn’t it?” he said.
It was mortifying that he had been forced to prepare
such a phrase as that. He could not make out
why she filled him with such embarrassment.
“It don’t make much difference to me what
the weather is, having to be in here all day.”
There was an insolence in her tone that peculiarly
irritated him. A sarcasm rose to his lips, but
he forced himself to be silent.
“I wish to God she’d say something really
cheeky,” he raged to himself, “so that
I could report her and get her sacked. It would
serve her damned well right.”
He could not get her out of his mind. He laughed
angrily at his own foolishness: it was absurd
to care what an anaemic little waitress said to him;
but he was strangely humiliated. Though no one
knew of the humiliation but Dunsford, and he had certainly
forgotten, Philip felt that he could have no peace
till he had wiped it out. He thought over what
he had better do. He made up his mind that he
would go to the shop every day; it was obvious that
he had made a disagreeable impression on her, but he
thought he had the wits to eradicate it; he would take
care not to say anything at which the most susceptible
person could be offended. All this he did, but
it had no effect. When he went in and said good-evening
she answered with the same words, but when once he
omitted to say it in order to see whether she would
say it first, she said nothing at all. He murmured
in his heart an expression which though frequently
applicable to members of the female sex is not often
used of them in polite society; but with an unmoved
face he ordered his tea. He made up his mind not
to speak a word, and left the shop without his usual
good-night. He promised himself that he would
not go any more, but the next day at tea-time he grew
restless. He tried to think of other things, but
he had no command over his thoughts. At last
he said desperately:
