The young man glanced vexatiously around him. A breakfast much better in
service and quality than the one he had been accustomed to smoked on the
table. There was no one else in the room. He could hear the voices of
the Chinese waiters in the kitchen beyond. He was healthily hungry,
and after a moment's hesitation sat down and began his meal. He could
expostulate with her afterward, and withdraw his promise. He was
entitled to his breakfast, anyway!

Once or twice, while thus engaged, he heard the door of the kitchen
open and the clipping tread of the Chinese waiters, who deposited some
rattling burden on the adjacent tables, but he thought it prudent not
to seem to notice them. When he had finished, the pleasant, hesitating,
boyish contralto of Miss Woodridge fell upon his ear.

"When you're ready, I'll show you how to begin your work."

He turned quickly, with a flush of mortification at being discovered
at his repast, and his anger returned. But as his eyes fell upon
her delicately colored but tranquil face, her well-shaped figure,
coquettishly and spotlessly cuffed, collared, and aproned, and her clear
blue but half-averted eyes, he again underwent a change. She certainly
was very pretty--that most seductive prettiness which seemed to be
warmed into life by her consciousness of himself. Why should he take her
or himself so seriously? Why not play out the farce, and let those
who would criticise him and think his acceptance of the work degrading
understand that it was only an affair of gallantry. He could afford
to serve Woodridge at least a few weeks for the favor of this Rachel!
Forgetful of his rebuff of the night before, he fixed his brown eyes on
hers with an audacious levity.