Mavis got a table to herself in a corner by a window which
overlooked the street. She ordered tea and toast. When it was
brought, she did her best to put her extremity out of sight; she
tried hard to believe that she, too, led a happy, butterfly
existence, without anxious thought for the morrow, without a care in
the world. The effort was scarcely a success, but was, perhaps,
worth the making. As she sat, she noticed a kindly-looking old
gentlewoman who was pointing her out to a companion; for all the old
woman's somewhat dowdy garb, she had rich woman stamped all over
her. The old lady kept on looking at Mavis; once or twice, when the
latter caught her eye, the elder woman smiled. When she rose to go,
she came over to Mavis and said:
"Forgive me, my dear, but your hair looks wonderful against that
imitation oak."
"Does it? But it isn't imitation too," replied Mavis.
"Forgive me, won't you?"
"Of course."
"May I ask your name?"
"Keeves. Mavis Keeves."
"A good name," muttered the old lady. "Good-bye."
"Good-bye."
Mavis saw her move towards the door; when she reached it, she turned
to smile again to Mavis before going out.
Pages:
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214