At that moment, however, the Sailor was far too deep in Chapter Eighteen to attend to the charlady. His total lack of interest sent her in a huff to the back kitchen. Yet she was not cast down altogether. He was more of a half-bake than she had guessed, that was all.
VII
Next morning a lady walked into the shop. She was tall and stout, beaming and fashionable. The first detail of a striking, even resplendent personality which caught the young man's eye was her boots. These were long, narrow, perilously high in the heel, they had black and white checked uppers, and a pair of fat feet had been buttoned into them.
"I want 'Etiquette for Ladies,' please. It's in the window. A shilling. Yellow cover."
It was not the voice the young man had heard in Hyde Park, nor was it the voice of Miss Foldal; on the contrary, it was direct, searching, rather aggressive in quality. There was ease and confidence in it, there was humor and archness. It was a voice of hyper-refinement, of Miss Foldal receiving company, raised to a higher, more dominant power.
"Yes, that's the one. By a Member of the Aristocracy. At least it says it is. And if it isn't, I get my money back, don't I?"
The flash of teeth and the smile that followed startled the young man considerably. He blushed to the roots of his hair. This was a new kind of lady altogether and he didn't know in the least how he was going to cope with her.
"Thanks very much." Elegantly the sum of one shilling was disbursed from a very smart reticule.
That, however, was not the conclusion of the incident.