“It was a liberty,” I said.
“I know, sir; but I was beside myself.”
“That was a liberty also.”
He hesitated, and then blurted out:
“It is my wife, sir. She—”
I stopped him with my hand. William, whom I had favoured in so many ways, was a married man! I might have guessed as much years before had I ever reflected about waiters, for I knew vaguely that his class did this sort of thing. His confession was distasteful to me, and I said warningly:
“Remember where you are, William.”
“Yes, sir; but you see, she is so delicate—”
“Delicate! I forbid your speaking to me on unpleasant topics.”
“Yes, sir; begging your pardon.”