Next day Philip was in a good temper. He was very anxious not to bore
Mildred with too much of his society, and so had arranged that he
should not see her till dinner-time. She was ready when he fetched her,
and he chaffed her for her unwonted punctuality. She was wearing a new
dress he had given her. He remarked on its smartness.
“It’ll have to go back and be altered,” she said. “The skirt hangs all
wrong.”
“You’ll have to make the dressmaker hurry up if you want to take it to
Paris with you.”
“It’ll be ready in time for that.”
“Only three more whole days. We’ll go over by the eleven o’clock, shall
we?”
“If you like.”
He would have her for nearly a month entirely to himself. His eyes
rested on her with hungry adoration. He was able to laugh a little at
his own passion.
“I wonder what it is I see in you,” he smiled.
“That’s a nice thing to say,” she answered.
Her body was so thin that one could almost see her skeleton. Her chest
was as flat as a boy’s. Her mouth, with its narrow pale lips, was ugly,
and her skin was faintly green.
“I shall give you Blaud’s Pills in quantities when we’re away,” said
Philip, laughing. “I’m going to bring you back fat and rosy.”
“I don’t want to get fat,” she said.
She did not speak of Griffiths, and presently while they were dining
Philip half in malice, for he felt sure of himself and his power over
her, said:
“It seems to me you were having a great flirtation with Harry last
night?”
“I told you I was in love with him,” she laughed.
“I’m glad to know that he’s not in love with you.”
“How d’you know?”
“I asked him.”
She hesitated a moment, looking at Philip, and a curious gleam came
into her eyes.
“Would you like to read a letter I had from him this morning?”
She handed him an envelope and Philip recognised Griffiths’ bold,
legible writing. There were eight pages. It was well written, frank and
charming; it was the letter of a man who was used to making love to
women. He told Mildred that he loved her passionately, he had fallen in
love with her the first moment he saw her; he did not want to love her,
for he knew how fond Philip was of her, but he could not help himself.
Philip was such a dear, and he was very much ashamed of himself, but it
was not his fault, he was just carried away. He paid her delightful
compliments. Finally he thanked her for consenting to lunch with him
next day and said he was dreadfully impatient to see her. Philip
noticed that the letter was dated the night before; Griffiths must have
written it after leaving Philip, and had taken the trouble to go out
and post it when Philip thought he was in bed.
He read it with a sickening palpitation of his heart, but gave no
outward sign of surprise. He handed it back to Mildred with a smile,
calmly.
“Did you enjoy your lunch?”
“Rather,” she said emphatically.
He felt that his hands were trembling, so he put them under the table.
“You mustn’t take Griffiths too seriously. He’s just a butterfly, you
know.”
She took the letter and looked at it again.
“I can’t help it either,” she said, in a voice which she tried to make
nonchalant. “I don’t know what’s come over me.”
“It’s a little awkward for me, isn’t it?” said Philip.
She gave him a quick look.
“You’re taking it pretty calmly, I must say.”
“What do you expect me to do? Do you want me to tear out my hair in
handfuls?”
“I knew you’d be angry with me.”
“The funny thing is, I’m not at all. I ought to have known this would
happen. I was a fool to bring you together. I know perfectly well that
he’s got every advantage over me; he’s much jollier, and he’s very
handsome, he’s more amusing, he can talk to you about the things that
interest you.”
“I don’t know what you mean by that. If I’m not clever I can’t help it,
but I’m not the fool you think I am, not by a long way, I can tell you.
You’re a bit too superior for me, my young friend.”
“D’you want to quarrel with me?” he asked mildly.
“No, but I don’t see why you should treat me as if I was I don’t know
what.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you. I just wanted to talk things
over quietly. We don’t want to make a mess of them if we can help it. I
saw you were attracted by him and it seemed to me very natural. The
only thing that really hurts me is that he should have encouraged you.
He knew how awfully keen I was on you. I think it’s rather shabby of
him to have written that letter to you five minutes after he told me he
didn’t care twopence about you.”
“If you think you’re going to make me like him any the less by saying
nasty things about him, you’re mistaken.”
Philip was silent for a moment. He did not know what words he could use
to make her see his point of view. He wanted to speak coolly and
deliberately, but he was in such a turmoil of emotion that he could not
clear his thoughts.
“It’s not worth while sacrificing everything for an infatuation that
you know can’t last. After all, he doesn’t care for anyone more than
ten days, and you’re rather cold; that sort of thing doesn’t mean very
much to you.”
“That’s what you think.”
She made it more difficult for him by adopting a cantankerous tone.
“If you’re in love with him you can’t help it. I’ll just bear it as
best I can. We get on very well together, you and I, and I’ve not
behaved badly to you, have I? I’ve always known that you’re not in love
with me, but you like me all right, and when we get over to Paris
you’ll forget about Griffiths. If you make up your mind to put him out
of your thoughts you won’t find it so hard as all that, and I’ve
deserved that you should do something for me.”
She did not answer, and they went on eating their dinner. When the
silence grew oppressive Philip began to talk of indifferent things. He
pretended not to notice that Mildred was inattentive. Her answers were
perfunctory, and she volunteered no remarks of her own. At last she
interrupted abruptly what he was saying:
“Philip, I’m afraid I shan’t be able to go away on Saturday. The doctor
says I oughtn’t to.”
He knew this was not true, but he answered:
“When will you be able to come away?”
She glanced at him, saw that his face was white and rigid, and looked
nervously away. She was at that moment a little afraid of him.
“I may as well tell you and have done with it, I can’t come away with
you at all.”
“I thought you were driving at that. It’s too late to change your mind
now. I’ve got the tickets and everything.”
“You said you didn’t wish me to go unless I wanted it too, and I
don’t.”
“I’ve changed my mind. I’m not going to have any more tricks played
with me. You must come.”
“I like you very much, Philip, as a friend. But I can’t bear to think
of anything else. I don’t like you that way. I couldn’t, Philip.”
“You were quite willing to a week ago.”
“It was different then.”
“You hadn’t met Griffiths?”
“You said yourself I couldn’t help it if I’m in love with him.”
Her face was set into a sulky look, and she kept her eyes fixed on her
plate. Philip was white with rage. He would have liked to hit her in
the face with his clenched fist, and in fancy he saw how she would look
with a black eye. There were two lads of eighteen dining at a table
near them, and now and then they looked at Mildred; he wondered if they
envied him dining with a pretty girl; perhaps they were wishing they
stood in his shoes. It was Mildred who broke the silence.
“What’s the good of our going away together? I’d be thinking of him all
the time. It wouldn’t be much fun for you.”
“That’s my business,” he answered.
She thought over all his reply implicated, and she reddened.
“But that’s just beastly.”
“What of it?”
“I thought you were a gentleman in every sense of the word.”
“You were mistaken.”
His reply entertained him, and he laughed as he said it.
“For God’s sake don’t laugh,” she cried. “I can’t come away with you,
Philip. I’m awfully sorry. I know I haven’t behaved well to you, but
one can’t force themselves.”
“Have you forgotten that when you were in trouble I did everything for
you? I planked out the money to keep you till your baby was born, I
paid for your doctor and everything, I paid for you to go to Brighton,
and I’m paying for the keep of your baby, I’m paying for your clothes,
I’m paying for every stitch you’ve got on now.”
“If you was a gentleman you wouldn’t throw what you’ve done for me in
my face.”
“Oh, for goodness’ sake, shut up. What d’you suppose I care if I’m a
gentleman or not? If I were a gentleman I shouldn’t waste my time with
a vulgar slut like you. I don’t care a damn if you like me or not. I’m
sick of being made a blasted fool of. You’re jolly well coming to Paris
with me on Saturday or you can take the consequences.”
Her cheeks were red with anger, and when she answered her voice had the
hard commonness which she concealed generally by a genteel enunciation.
“I never liked you, not from the beginning, but you forced yourself on
me, I always hated it when you kissed me. I wouldn’t let you touch me
now not if I was starving.”
Philip tried to swallow the food on his plate, but the muscles of his
throat refused to act. He gulped down something to drink and lit a
cigarette. He was trembling in every part. He did not speak. He waited
for her to move, but she sat in silence, staring at the white
tablecloth. If they had been alone he would have flung his arms round
her and kissed her passionately; he fancied the throwing back of her
long white throat as he pressed upon her mouth with his lips. They
passed an hour without speaking, and at last Philip thought the waiter
began to stare at them curiously. He called for the bill.
“Shall we go?” he said then, in an even tone.
She did not reply, but gathered together her bag and her gloves. She
put on her coat.
“When are you seeing Griffiths again?”
“Tomorrow,” she answered indifferently.
“You’d better talk it over with him.”
She opened her bag mechanically and saw a piece of paper in it. She
took it out.
“Here’s the bill for this dress,” she said hesitatingly.
“What of it?”
“I promised I’d give her the money tomorrow.”
“Did you?”
“Does that mean you won’t pay for it after having told me I could get
it?”
“It does.”
“I’ll ask Harry,” she said, flushing quickly.
“He’ll be glad to help you. He owes me seven pounds at the moment, and
he pawned his microscope last week, because he was so broke.”
“You needn’t think you can frighten me by that. I’m quite capable of
earning my own living.”
“It’s the best thing you can do. I don’t propose to give you a farthing
more.”
She thought of her rent due on Saturday and the baby’s keep, but did
not say anything. They left the restaurant, and in the street Philip
asked her:
“Shall I call a cab for you? I’m going to take a little stroll.”
“I haven’t got any money. I had to pay a bill this afternoon.”
“It won’t hurt you to walk. If you want to see me tomorrow I shall be
in about tea-time.”
He took off his hat and sauntered away. He looked round in a moment and
saw that she was standing helplessly where he had left her, looking at
the traffic. He went back and with a laugh pressed a coin into her
hand.
“Here’s two bob for you to get home with.”
Before she could speak he hurried away.