The bookseller looked up in mild surprise, peering. He was startled and alarmed, but his feelings seldom appeared on his face.
"I do." He thought: "What is this inquisitive fellow getting at? It's not what I call manners, anyhow."
"Her name's Elsie, I think. I don't know her surname."
The bookseller went on with his packing and said naught.
"As I'm here I thought I might as well ask you," the customer continued with a fresh nervous laugh. "I ought to explain that my name's Raste, Dr. Raste, of Myddelton Square. Dare say you've heard of me. From your name your family belongs to the district?"
"Yes," agreed the bookseller. "I do."
He was very proud of the name Riceyman, and he did not explain that it was the name only of his deceased uncle, and that his own name was Earlforward.
"I've got a lad in my service," the doctor continued. "Shell-shock case. He's improving, but I find he's running after this girl Elsie. Quite O.K., of course. Most respectable. Only it's putting him off his work, and I just thought as I happened to be in here you wouldn't mind me asking you about her. Is she a good girl? I'd like him to marry—if it's the right sort. Might do him a lot of good."
"She's right enough," answered the bookseller calmly and indifferently. "I've nothing against her."
"Had her long?"