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Nobody
Nobody
CHAPTER I
ANARCHY
"What you gonna have?"
To this inquiry the patron made no response; head bent, nose between the pages of the magazine, she pored sedulously over a legend attached to one of the illustrations.
After a decent pause in waiting the waitress renewed her demand with a sharper accent:
"Say, lis'en; what you want?"
"White satin, veiled with point d' Angleterre,'" Miss Manvers replied distinctly, if without looking up, aware simply of something imperative in the starched but humid presence at her elbow.
Pardonably startled, the waitress demanded with the rising inflection: "Wha-a-at?"
"'The court train,'" Miss Manvers pursued in abstraction, "'is lined with lace and dotted with bouquets of orange-blossoms-'"
She checked herself suddenly, looked up shyly, and essayed a pale, apologetic smile.
"I'm sorry; I didn't realise-"
But now the waitress had caught a glimpse of the illustration and was bending over the patron's shoulder for a better look.