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waitress. Mildred’s friend was there again and she was talk-
ing to him. She paid no attention to Philip, and so when he
went out he chose a moment when she had to cross his path:
as he passed he looked at her as though he had never seen
her before. He repeated this for three or four days. He ex-
pected that presently she would take the opportunity to say
something to him; he thought she would ask why he never
came to one of her tables now, and he had prepared an an-
swer charged with all the loathing he felt for her. He knew
it was absurd to trouble, but he could not help himself. She
had beaten him again. The German suddenly disappeared,
but Philip still sat at other tables. She paid no attention to
him. Suddenly he realised that what he did was a matter of
complete indifference to her; he could go on in that way till
doomsday, and it would have no effect.
‘I’ve not finished yet,’ he said to himself.
The day after he sat down in his old seat, and when she
came up said good-evening as though he had not ignored
her for a week. His face was placid, but he could not prevent
the mad beating of his heart. At that time the musical com-
edy had lately leaped into public favour, and he was sure
that Mildred would be delighted to go to one.
‘I say,’ he said suddenly, ‘I wonder if you’d dine with me
one night and come to The Belle of New York. I’ll get a cou-
ple of stalls.’
He added the last sentence in order to tempt her. He
knew that when the girls went to the play it was either in
the pit, or, if some man took them, seldom to more expen-
sive seats than the upper circle. Mildred’s pale face showed