Of Human Bondage (52 page)

  "What an odious name," said Philip.

  "Why?" asked Dunsford.

  "I like it."

  "It's so pretentious."

  It chanced that on this day the German was not
there, and, when she brought the tea, Philip, smiling,
remarked:

  "Your friend's not here today."

  "I don't know what you mean," she said coldly.

  "I was referring to the nobleman with the sandy
moustache. Has he left you for another?"

  "Some people would do better to mind their own
business," she retorted.

  She left them, and, since for a minute or two there
was no one to attend to, sat down and looked at the evening paper
which a customer had left behind him.

  "You are a fool to put her back up," said
Dunsford.

  "I'm really quite indifferent to the attitude of her
vertebrae," replied Philip.

  But he was piqued. It irritated him that when he
tried to be agreeable with a woman she should take offence. When he
asked for the bill, he hazarded a remark which he meant to lead
further.

  "Are we no longer on speaking terms?" he smiled.

  "I'm here to take orders and to wait on customers.
I've got nothing to say to them, and I don't want them to say
anything to me."

  She put down the slip of paper on which she had
marked the sum they had to pay, and walked back to the table at
which she had been sitting. Philip flushed with anger.

  "That's one in the eye for you, Carey," said
Dunsford, when they got outside.

  "Ill-mannered slut," said Philip. "I shan't go there
again."

  His influence with Dunsford was strong enough to get
him to take their tea elsewhere, and Dunsford soon found another
young woman to flirt with. But the snub which the waitress had
inflicted on him rankled. If she had treated him with civility he
would have been perfectly indifferent to her; but it was obvious
that she disliked him rather than otherwise, and his pride was
wounded. He could not suppress a desire to be even with her. He was
impatient with himself 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:

  "After all there's no reason why I shouldn't go if I
want to."

  The struggle with himself had taken a long time, and
it was getting on for seven when he entered the shop.

  "I thought you weren't coming," the girl said to
him, when he sat down.

  His heart leaped in his bosom and he felt himself
reddening. "I was detained. I couldn't come before."

  "Cutting up people, I suppose?"

  "Not so bad as that."

  "You are a stoodent, aren't you?"

  "Yes."

  But that seemed to satisfy her curiosity. She went
away and, since at that late hour there was nobody else at her
tables, she immersed herself in a novelette. This was before the
time of the sixpenny reprints. There was a regular supply of
inexpensive fiction written to order by poor hacks for the
consumption of the illiterate. Philip was elated; she had addressed
him of her own accord; he saw the time approaching when his turn
would come and he would tell her exactly what he thought of her. It
would be a great comfort to express the immensity of his contempt.
He looked at her. It was true that her profile was beautiful; it
was extraordinary how English girls of that class had so often a
perfection of outline which took your breath away, but it was as
cold as marble; and the faint green of her delicate skin gave an
impression of unhealthiness. All the waitresses were dressed alike,
in plain black dresses, with a white apron, cuffs, and a small cap.
On a half sheet of paper that he had in his pocket Philip made a
sketch of her as she sat leaning over her book (she outlined the
words with her lips as she read), and left it on the table when he
went away. It was an inspiration, for next day, when he came in,
she smiled at him.

  "I didn't know you could draw," she said.

  "I was an art-student in Paris for two years."

  "I showed that drawing you left be'ind you last
night to the manageress and she WAS struck with it. Was it meant to
be me?"

  "It was," said Philip.

  When she went for his tea, one of the other girls
came up to him.

  "I saw that picture you done of Miss Rogers. It was
the very image of her," she said.

  That was the first time he had heard her name, and
when he wanted his bill he called her by it.

  "I see you know my name," she said, when she
came.

  "Your friend mentioned it when she said something to
me about that drawing."

  "She wants you to do one of her. Don't you do it. If
you once begin you'll have to go on, and they'll all be wanting you
to do them." Then without a pause, with peculiar inconsequence, she
said: "Where's that young fellow that used to come with you? Has he
gone away?"

  "Fancy your remembering him," said Philip.

  "He was a nice-looking young fellow."

  Philip felt quite a peculiar sensation in his heart.
He did not know what it was. Dunsford had jolly curling hair, a
fresh complexion, and a beautiful smile. Philip thought of these
advantages with envy.

  "Oh, he's in love," said he, with a little
laugh.

  Philip repeated every word of the conversation to
himself as he limped home. She was quite friendly with him now.
When opportunity arose he would offer to make a more finished
sketch of her, he was sure she would like that; her face was
interesting, the profile was lovely, and there was something
curiously fascinating about the chlorotic colour. He tried to think
what it was like; at first he thought of pea soup; but, driving
away that idea angrily, he thought of the petals of a yellow
rosebud when you tore it to pieces before it had burst. He had no
ill-feeling towards her now.

  "She's not a bad sort," he murmured.

  It was silly of him to take offence at what she had
said; it was doubtless his own fault; she had not meant to make
herself disagreeable: he ought to be accustomed by now to making at
first sight a bad impression on people. He was flattered at the
success of his drawing; she looked upon him with more interest now
that she was aware of this small talent. He was restless next day.
He thought of going to lunch at the tea-shop, but he was certain
there would be many people there then, and Mildred would not be
able to talk to him. He had managed before this to get out of
having tea with Dunsford, and, punctually at half past four (he had
looked at his watch a dozen times), he went into the shop.

  Mildred had her back turned to him. She was sitting
down, talking to the German whom Philip had seen there every day
till a fortnight ago and since then had not seen at all. She was
laughing at what he said. Philip thought she had a common laugh,
and it made him shudder. He called her, but she took no notice; he
called her again; then, growing angry, for he was impatient, he
rapped the table loudly with his stick. She approached sulkily.

  "How d'you do?" he said.

  "You seem to be in a great hurry."

  She looked down at him with the insolent manner
which he knew so well.

  "I say, what's the matter with you?" he asked.

  "If you'll kindly give your order I'll get what you
want. I can't stand talking all night."

  "Tea and toasted bun, please," Philip answered
briefly.

  He was furious with her. He had The Star with him
and read it elaborately when she brought the tea.

  "If you'll give me my bill now I needn't trouble you
again," he said icily.

  She wrote out the slip, placed it on the table, and
went back to the German. Soon she was talking to him with
animation. He was a man of middle height, with the round head of
his nation and a sallow face; his moustache was large and
bristling; he had on a tail-coat and gray trousers, and he wore a
massive gold watch-chain. Philip thought the other girls looked
from him to the pair at the table and exchanged significant
glances. He felt certain they were laughing at him, and his blood
boiled. He detested Mildred now with all his heart. He knew that
the best thing he could do was to cease coming to the tea-shop, but
he could not bear to think that he had been worsted in the affair,
and he devised a plan to show her that he despised her. Next day he
sat down at another table and ordered his tea from another
waitress. Mildred's friend was there again and she was talking to
him. She paid no attention to Philip, and so when he went out he
chose a moment when she had to cross his path: as he passed he
looked at her as though he had never seen her before. He repeated
this for three or four days. He expected that presently she would
take the opportunity to say something to him; he thought she would
ask why he never came to one of her tables now, and he had prepared
an answer charged with all the loathing he felt for her. He knew it
was absurd to trouble, but he could not help himself. She had
beaten him again. The German suddenly disappeared, but Philip still
sat at other tables. She paid no attention to him. Suddenly he
realised that what he did was a matter of complete indifference to
her; he could go on in that way till doomsday, and it would have no
effect.