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dy hair and a bristly moustache, who looked like a German,
was favoured with her attention whenever he came into the
shop; and then it was only by calling her two or three times
that they could induce her to take their order. She used the
clients whom she did not know with frigid insolence, and
when she was talking to a friend was perfectly indifferent to
the calls of the hurried. She had the art of treating women
who desired refreshment with just that degree of imper-
tinence which irritated them without affording them an
opportunity of complaining to the management. One day
Dunsford told him her name was Mildred. He had heard
one of the other girls in the shop address her.
‘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 mous-
tache. Has he left you for another?’
‘Some people would do better to mind their own busi-
ness,’ 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 verte-