Another thing dawned upon Tildy’s recovering wits.  In a moment she had advanced from a hopeless, lowly admirer to be an Eve-sister of the potent Aileen.  She herself was now a man-charmer, a mark for Cupid, a Sabine who must be coy when the Romans were at their banquet boards.  Man had found her waist achievable and her lips desirable.  The sudden and amatory Seeders had, as it were, performed for her a miraculous piece of one-day laundry work.  He had taken the sackcloth of her uncomeliness, had washed, dried, starched and ironed it, and returned it to her sheer embroidered lawn—­the robe of Venus herself.

The freckles on Tildy’s cheeks merged into a rosy flush.  Now both Circe and Psyche peeped from her brightened eyes.  Not even Aileen herself had been publicly embraced and kissed in the restaurant.

Tildy could not keep the delightful secret.  When trade was slack she went and stood at Bogle’s desk.  Her eyes were shining; she tried not to let her words sound proud and boastful.

“A gentleman insulted me to-day,” she said.  “He hugged me around the waist and kissed me.”

“That so?” said Bogle, cracking open his business armour.  “After this week you get a dollar a week more.”

At the next regular meal when Tildy set food before customers with whom she had acquaintance she said to each of them modestly, as one whose merit needed no bolstering: 

“A gentleman insulted me to-day in the restaurant.  He put his arm around my waist and kissed me.”

The diners accepted the revelation in various ways—­some incredulously, some with congratulations; others turned upon her the stream of badinage that had hitherto been directed at Aileen alone.  And Tildy’s heart swelled in her bosom, for she saw at last the towers of Romance rise above the horizon of the grey plain in which she had for so long travelled.

For two days Mr. Seeders came not again.  During that time Tildy established herself firmly as a woman to be wooed.  She bought ribbons, and arranged her hair like Aileen’s, and tightened her waist two inches.  She had a thrilling but delightful fear that Mr. Seeders would rush in suddenly and shoot her with a pistol.  He must have loved her desperately; and impulsive lovers are always blindly jealous.

Even Aileen had not been shot at with a pistol.  And then Tildy rather hoped that he would not shoot at her, for she was always loyal to Aileen; and she did not want to overshadow her friend.

At 4 o’clock on the afternoon of the third day Mr. Seeders came in.  There were no customers at the tables.  At the back end of the restaurant Tildy was refilling the mustard pots and Aileen was quartering pies.  Mr. Seeders walked back to where they stood.

Tildy looked up and saw him, gasped, and pressed the mustard spoon against her heart.  A red hair-bow was in her hair; she wore Venus’s Eighth Avenue badge, the blue bead necklace with the swinging silver symbolic heart.