"Are you going to write about us?"
"I shall write about the Old Gentlemen. Is there always such a crowd of them?"
"Only on holidays and week-ends."
"Perhaps I shall write about you——" daringly. "I need a little lovely heroine."
Her look stopped him. His face changed. "I beg your pardon," he said quickly. "I should not have said that."
"Would you have said it if I had not waited on the table?" Her voice was tremulous. The color that had flamed in her cheeks still dyed them. "I thought of it last night, after I went up-stairs. I have been trying to teach my little children in my school that there is dignity in service, and so—I have helped Mrs. Bower. But I felt that people did not understand."
"You felt that we—thought less of you?"
"Yes," very low.
"And that I spoke as I did because I did not—respect you?"
"Yes."