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.”

LVI

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: