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Updated: May 21, 2025
Mr Orgles poured out the tea; as he did so, he turned his head so that his glance could fall on Mavis. "Bread and butter, or cake?" "Neither, thank you." "Then drink this tea." Mr Orgles brought a cup of tea to where Mavis was standing. On his way, he closed the door that she had left open. He placed the tea on a table beside her and took up a piece of bread and butter.
Here Mr Orgles noisily sucked up a mouthful of tea. Mavis shivered with disgust as she watched him churn the mixture of food and drink in his mouth. "Won't you sit down?" he asked presently. "I prefer to stand." "Now then!" Here he joyously rubbed his hands. "Two months ago, when we had a little talk, you were a foolish, ignorant little girl. Perhaps we've learned sense since then, eh?"
I went carefully over all the good fellows I knew who could help me. There was old Longden of the A.S.C. depôt at St. Omer, there was Captain Chester, the transport officer at Boulogne, and Orgles of ammunition supply at Cassel, which is a small place where the strings of motors from the base unload.
She bowed her thanks to Mr Skeffington Dawes and left the room, all unconscious of the malignant glance that Mr Orgles shot at her, after turning his head to bring the girl within his range of vision.
Mr Orgles, with an unpleasant look on his face, turned to see who the intruder might be. "I've been looking for you, Orgles," said the man. "Indeed, sir! Very sorry, sir," remarked Mr Orgles, who wore such an attitude of servility to the newcomer that Mavis could hardly believe him to be the same man. "I see you're busy," continued the intruder. "Engaging someone in Miss Jackson's place?"
"Nothing of the kind; one of the partners got me in." "Sorry! I heard it was that beast Orgles. But most of the 'boys' who try and speak to you in the street are only too glad to stand a girl a feed." "But why should they?" "Don't you know?" "It would put me under an obligation to the man," remarked Mavis. "Of course; that's what the gentlemen want."
He looked like the deacon at a house of dissenting worship, which, indeed, he was. Mavis rightly concluded this person to be Mr Orgles. "You wished to see me?" he asked. "Mr Orgles?" "That's my name." Mavis explained why she had called: it was as much as she could do to hide her anxiety.
"Sorry!" echoed Mavis. "Because you haven't lived; you don't know what life can be is," cried Mr Orgles, who now waved his arms and moved jerkily about the girl. She looked at him in astonishment. "Excuse me; a further bit of fluff," said Mr Orgles. This time he placed his hand upon the breast of her coat and seemed in no hurry to remove it.
Now, she was resentful at having to earn her bread as a shop-girl, not only on account of its being a means of livelihood which she had always looked down upon, but also, because it exposed her to the insults of such creatures as Orgles.
Mr Orgles not making any reply, she went on speaking, saying how she would do her utmost to give satisfaction in the event of her being engaged. While she was pleading, she was conscious that the man was looking in his sideways fashion at her figure. He approached her. Mavis suddenly felt an instinct of repugnance for the man.
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