“No superiority, Victor,” he said. “These are your fellow-creatures. Don’t look at them as though you’d come down from the clouds.”
“It isn’t that,” Macheson answered, “it’s a matter of taste.”
“Taste! Rot!” Holderness answered. “The factory girl’s hat offends my taste, but I don’t shrink away from her.”
A girl, in passing, stumbled against his foot. Holderness stood up as he apologized.
“I am really very sorry,” he said. “No one with feet like mine ought to sit down in a public place. I hope you haven’t torn your dress?”
“It really doesn’t matter,” the girl answered. “I ought to have looked where I was going.”
“In which case,” Holderness remarked, with a laugh, “you could not have failed to see my feet.”
There were two empty chairs at their table. The girl glanced towards them and hesitated.
“Do you mind if we sit down here for a minute,” she asked, “my friend and I? We are rather tired.”