Page 440 - of-human-bondage-

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 red-
dening. ‘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 ta-
bles, she immersed herself in a novelette. This was before
the time of the sixpenny reprints. There was a regular sup-
ply 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 ap-
proaching 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 extraordi-
nary 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 im-
pression 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