Nearer and nearer to West she drew, and he saw that in her hand she carried a copy of the Daily Mail.
West's waiter was a master of the art of suggesting that no table in the room was worth sitting at save that at which he held ready a chair.

Thus he lured the girl and her companion to repose not five feet from where West sat.

This accomplished, he whipped out his order book, and stood with pencil poised, like a reporter in an American play.
"The strawberries are delicious," he said in honeyed tones.
The man looked at the girl, a question in his eyes.
"Not for me, dad," she said.

"I hate them! Grapefruit, please." As the waiter hurried past, West hailed him.

He spoke in loud defiant tones.
"Another plate of the strawberries!" he commanded.