Of Human Bondage - W. Somerset Maugham [157]
Mildred had her back turned to him. She was sitting down, talking to the German whom Philip had seen there every day till a fortnight ago and since then had not seen at all. She was laughing at what he said. Philip thought she had a common laugh, and it made him shudder. He called her, but she took no notice; he called her again; then, growing angry, for he was impatient, he rapped the table loudly with his stick. She approached sulkily.
“How d’you do?” he said.
“You seem to be in a great hurry.”
She looked down at him with the insolent manner which he knew so well.
“I say, what’s the matter with you?” he asked.
“If you’ll kindly give your order I’ll get what you want. I can’t stand talking all night.”
“Tea and toasted bun, please,” Philip answered briefly.
He was furious with her. He had The Star with him and read it elaborately when she brought the tea.
“If you’ll give me my bill now I needn’t trouble you again,” he said icily.
She wrote out the slip, placed it on the table, and went back to the German. Soon she was talking to him with animation. He was a man of middle height, with the round head of his nation and a sallow face; his mustache was large and bristling; he had on a tail-coat and grey trousers, and he wore a massive gold watch-chain. Philip thought the other girls looked from him to the pair at the table and exchanged significant glances. He felt certain they were laughing at him, and his blood boiled. He detested Mildred now with all his heart. He knew that the best thing he could do was to cease coming to the tea-shop, but he could not bear to think that he had been worsted in the affair, and he devised a plan to show her that he despised her. Next day he sat down at another table and ordered his tea from another waitress. Mildred’s friend was there again and she was talking 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 she passed he looked at her as though he had never seen her before. He repeated this for three or four days. He expected 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 answer 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 realized 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 comedy had lately leaped into public favor, 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 couple of stalls.”
He added that last sentence in order to tempt her. He knew that when girls went to the play it was either in the pit, or, if some man took them, seldom to more expensive seats than the upper circle. Mildred’s pale face showed no change of expression.
“I don’t mind,” she said.
“When will you come?”
“I get off early on Thursdays.”
They made arrangements. Mildred lived with an aunt at Heme Hill. The play began at eight, so they must dine at seven. She proposed that he should meet her in the second-class waiting-room at Victoria Station. She showed no pleasure, but accepted the invitation as though she conferred a favor. Philip was vaguely irritated.