'I am gratified,' said Arthur, ponderously--in happier moments Maud
had admired his gift of language; he read a great deal: encyclopedias
and papers and things--'I am gratified to find that you had time to
bestow a glance on me. You appeared absorbed.'

Maud sniffed unhappily. She had meant to be cold and dignified
throughout the conversation, but the sense of her wrongs was beginning
to be too much for her. A large tear splashed on to her tray of
orange-sticks. She wiped it away with the chamois leather.

'It isn't fair,' she sobbed. 'It isn't. You know I can't help it if
gentlemen talk and joke with me. You know it's all in the day's work.
I'm expected to be civil to gentlemen who come in to have their hands
done. Silly I should look sitting as if I'd swallowed a poker. I
_do_ think you might understand, Arthur, you being in the
profession yourself.'

He coughed.

'It isn't so much that you talk to them as that you seem to like--'

He stopped. Maud's dignity had melted completely. Her face was buried
in her arms. She did not care if a million customers came in, all at
the same time.

'Maud!'

She heard him moving towards her, but she did not look up. The next
moment his arms were round her, and he was babbling.