Victoria could not say why she was interested in this man. He had no outward graces, dressed poorly and obviously brushed his coat but seldom; his linen, too, was not often quite clean. Immediately on sitting down at his usual table he would open a book, prop it up against the sugar bowl, and begin to read. His books did not tell Victoria much; in two months she noted a few books she did not know, _News from Nowhere_, _Fabian Essays_, _The Odyssey_, and a book with a long title the biggest printed word of which was _Niestze_ or _Niesche._ Victoria could never remember this word, even though her customer read the book every day for over a month. _The Odyssey_ she had heard of, but that did not tell her anything. She had found out his name accidentally. One day he had brought down three books and had put two under his seat while he read the third. Soon after he had left, reading still while he went up the stairs. Victoria found the books under the chair. One was a _Life of William Morris_, the other the _Vindication of the Rights of Women_. On the flyleaf of each was written in bold letter. 'Thomas Farwell.' Victoria could not resist glancing at the books during her half hour for lunch. The _Life of William Morris_ she did not attempt, remembering her experiences at school with 'Lives' of any kind: they were all dull. Marie Wollstonecraft's book seemed more interesting, but she seemed to have to wade through so much that she had never heard of and to have to face a style so crabbed and congested that she hardly understood it. Yet, something in the book interested her, and it was regretfully that she handed the volumes back to Farwell when he called for them at half-past six. He thanked her in half a dozen words and left. Farwell continued regular in his attendance. He came in on the stroke of one, left at half-past one exactly, lighting his pipe as he got up. He never spoke to anyone; when Victoria stood before his table he looked at her for a moment, gave his order and cast his eyes down to his book. It was about three weeks after the incident of the books that he spoke to Victoria. As he took up the bill of fare he said suddenly: 'Did you read the _Vindication_?' 'I did glance through it,' said Victoria, feeling, she did not know why, acutely uncomfortable. 'Ah? interesting, isn't it? Pity it's so badly written. What do you think of it?' 'Well, I hardly know,' said Victoria reflectively; 'I didn't have time to read much; what I read seemed true.' 'You think that a recommendation, eh?' said Farwell, his lips parting slightly. 'I'd have thought you saw enough truth about life here to like lies.' 'No,' said Victoria, 'I don't care for lies. The nastier a thing is, the better everybody should know it; then one day people will be ashamed.' 'Oh, an optimist!' sniggered Farwell. 'Bless you, my child. Give me fillets of plaice, small white and cut.'