t 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."

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