THE GENTLEMAN. Miss Dorothea and Mr. Philip, I suppose.

WAITER. Yes, sir. The young lady, in giving an order, or the like
of that, will say, "Remember, William, we came to this hotel on your
account, having heard what a perfect waiter you are." The young
gentleman will tell me that I remind him strongly of his father (the
gentleman starts at this) and that he expects me to act by him as such.
(Soothing, sunny cadence.) Oh, very peasant, sir, very affable and
pleasant indeed!

THE GENTLEMAN. You like his father! (He laughs at the notion.)

WAITER. Oh, we must not take what they say too seriously, sir. Of
course, sir, if it were true, the young lady would have seen the
resemblance, too, sir.

THE GENTLEMAN. Did she?

WAITER. No, sir. She thought me like the bust of Shakespear in
Stratford Church, sir. That is why she calls me William, sir. My real
name is Walter, sir. (He turns to go back to the table, and sees Mrs.
Clandon coming up to the terrace from the beach by the steps.) Here is
Mrs. Clandon, sir. (To Mrs. Clandon, in an unobtrusively confidential
tone) Gentleman for you, ma'am.

MRS. CLANDON. We shall have two more gentlemen at lunch, William.

WAITER. Right, ma'am. Thank you, ma'am. (He withdraws into the
hotel. Mrs. Clandon comes forward looking round for her visitor, but
passes over the gentleman without any sign of recognition.)