“Did you want some tea?” she asked timidly. “Because if you’ll sit down——”
The gentleman looked her over closely. “Tea? Why, yes, I suppose I want tea. It’s the thing to want at this hour, isn’t it? You do a pretty big business here, don’t you?” He glanced toward the stalls, where groups of girls were gathered.
“Yes, a good many people come,” Betty told him pleasantly. “Would you like a little table in the window or one near the fire?”
He chose one near the fire, overlooking the whole room. He ordered nothing but a cup of tea, which he sipped and sipped, while he stared at the girls who came in and at those who went out, at the china, the decorations, the names over the stalls. These last appeared to interest him particularly, and he craned his neck until Betty feared it would break, to decipher the one at the furthest end of the line.
Finally he got up and strolled over to her desk.
“Nice little place you’ve got here,” he said, staring hard at her, with his sharp ferret-eyes. “Very pretty decorations and all that.”
“Thank you,” said Betty politely. “I’m glad you like it. We’ve tried to make it look attractive.”
“You—er—the owner or manager or something of that kind?”
Betty explained her position briefly, wondering why she hated so to talk to him.
“And do people drink enough afternoon tea to pay your partners good profits on their investment?” he demanded.