Chapter CXV

by William Somerset Maugham

　　Philip spent the few weeks that remained before the beginning of thewinter session in the out-patients' department, and in October settleddown to regular work. He had been away from the hospital for so long thathe found himself very largely among new people; the men of different yearshad little to do with one another, and his contemporaries were now mostlyqualified: some had left to take up assistantships or posts in countryhospitals and infirmaries, and some held appointments at St. Luke's. Thetwo years during which his mind had lain fallow had refreshed him, hefancied, and he was able now to work with energy.The Athelnys were delighted with his change of fortune. He had kept asidea few things from the sale of his uncle's effects and gave them allpresents. He gave Sally a gold chain that had belonged to his aunt. Shewas now grown up. She was apprenticed to a dressmaker and set out everymorning at eight to work all day in a shop in Regent Street. Sally hadfrank blue eyes, a broad brow, and plentiful shining hair; she was buxom,with broad hips and full breasts; and her father, who was fond ofdiscussing her appearance, warned her constantly that she must not growfat. She attracted because she was healthy, animal, and feminine. She hadmany admirers, but they left her unmoved; she gave one the impression thatshe looked upon love-making as nonsense; and it was easy to imagine thatyoung men found her unapproachable. Sally was old for her years: she hadbeen used to help her mother in the household work and in the care of thechildren, so that she had acquired a managing air, which made her mothersay that Sally was a bit too fond of having things her own way. She didnot speak very much, but as she grew older she seemed to be acquiring aquiet sense of humour, and sometimes uttered a remark which suggested thatbeneath her impassive exterior she was quietly bubbling with amusement ather fellow-creatures. Philip found that with her he never got on the termsof affectionate intimacy upon which he was with the rest of Athelny's hugefamily. Now and then her indifference slightly irritated him. There wassomething enigmatic in her.When Philip gave her the necklace Athelny in his boisterous way insistedthat she must kiss him; but Sally reddened and drew back."No, I'm not going to," she said."Ungrateful hussy!" cried Athelny. "Why not?""I don't like being kissed by men," she said.Philip saw her embarrassment, and, amused, turned Athelny's attention tosomething else. That was never a very difficult thing to do. But evidentlyher mother spoke of the matter later, for next time Philip came she tookthe opportunity when they were alone for a couple of minutes to refer toit."You didn't think it disagreeable of me last week when I wouldn't kissyou?""Not a bit," he laughed."It's not because I wasn't grateful." She blushed a little as she utteredthe formal phrase which she had prepared. "I shall always value thenecklace, and it was very kind of you to give it me."Philip found it always a little difficult to talk to her. She did all thatshe had to do very competently, but seemed to feel no need ofconversation; yet there was nothing unsociable in her. One Sundayafternoon when Athelny and his wife had gone out together, and Philip,treated as one of the family, sat reading in the parlour, Sally came inand sat by the window to sew. The girls' clothes were made at home andSally could not afford to spend Sundays in idleness. Philip thought shewished to talk and put down his book."Go on reading," she said. "I only thought as you were alone I'd come andsit with you.""You're the most silent person I've ever struck," said Philip."We don't want another one who's talkative in this house," she said.There was no irony in her tone: she was merely stating a fact. But itsuggested to Philip that she measured her father, alas, no longer the herohe was to her childhood, and in her mind joined together his entertainingconversation and the thriftlessness which often brought difficulties intotheir life; she compared his rhetoric with her mother's practical commonsense; and though the liveliness of her father amused her she was perhapssometimes a little impatient with it. Philip looked at her as she bentover her work; she was healthy, strong, and normal; it must be odd to seeher among the other girls in the shop with their flat chests and anaemicfaces. Mildred suffered from anaemia.After a time it appeared that Sally had a suitor. She went outoccasionally with friends she had made in the work-room, and had met ayoung man, an electrical engineer in a very good way of business, who wasa most eligible person. One day she told her mother that he had asked herto marry him."What did you say?" said her mother."Oh, I told him I wasn't over-anxious to marry anyone just yet awhile."She paused a little as was her habit between observations. "He took on sothat I said he might come to tea on Sunday."It was an occasion that thoroughly appealed to Athelny. He rehearsed allthe afternoon how he should play the heavy father for the young man'sedification till he reduced his children to helpless giggling. Just beforehe was due Athelny routed out an Egyptian tarboosh and insisted on puttingit on."Go on with you, Athelny," said his wife, who was in her best, which wasof black velvet, and, since she was growing stouter every year, very tightfor her. "You'll spoil the girl's chances."She tried to pull it off, but the little man skipped nimbly out of herway."Unhand me, woman. Nothing will induce me to take it off. This young manmust be shown at once that it is no ordinary family he is preparing toenter.""Let him keep it on, mother," said Sally, in her even, indifferentfashion. "If Mr. Donaldson doesn't take it the way it's meant he can takehimself off, and good riddance."Philip thought it was a severe ordeal that the young man was being exposedto, since Athelny, in his brown velvet jacket, flowing black tie, and redtarboosh, was a startling spectacle for an innocent electrical engineer.When he came he was greeted by his host with the proud courtesy of aSpanish grandee and by Mrs. Athelny in an altogether homely and naturalfashion. They sat down at the old ironing-table in the high-backed monkishchairs, and Mrs. Athelny poured tea out of a lustre teapot which gave anote of England and the country-side to the festivity. She had made littlecakes with her own hand, and on the table was home-made jam. It was afarm-house tea, and to Philip very quaint and charming in that Jacobeanhouse. Athelny for some fantastic reason took it into his head todiscourse upon Byzantine history; he had been reading the later volumes ofthe Decline and Fall; and, his forefinger dramatically extended, hepoured into the astonished ears of the suitor scandalous stories aboutTheodora and Irene. He addressed himself directly to his guest with atorrent of rhodomontade; and the young man, reduced to helpless silenceand shy, nodded his head at intervals to show that he took an intelligentinterest. Mrs. Athelny paid no attention to Thorpe's conversation, butinterrupted now and then to offer the young man more tea or to press uponhim cake and jam. Philip watched Sally; she sat with downcast eyes, calm,silent, and observant; and her long eye-lashes cast a pretty shadow on hercheek. You could not tell whether she was amused at the scene or if shecared for the young man. She was inscrutable. But one thing was certain:the electrical engineer was good-looking, fair and clean-shaven, withpleasant, regular features, and an honest face; he was tall and well-made.Philip could not help thinking he would make an excellent mate for her,and he felt a pang of envy for the happiness which he fancied was in storefor them.Presently the suitor said he thought it was about time he was gettingalong. Sally rose to her feet without a word and accompanied him to thedoor. When she came back her father burst out:"Well, Sally, we think your young man very nice. We are prepared towelcome him into our family. Let the banns be called and I will compose anuptial song."Sally set about clearing away the tea-things. She did not answer. Suddenlyshe shot a swift glance at Philip."What did you think of him, Mr. Philip?"She had always refused to call him Uncle Phil as the other children did,and would not call him Philip."I think you'd make an awfully handsome pair."She looked at him quickly once more, and then with a slight blush went onwith her business."I thought him a very nice civil-spoken young fellow," said Mrs. Athelny,"and I think he's just the sort to make any girl happy."Sally did not reply for a minute or two, and Philip looked at hercuriously: it might be thought that she was meditating upon what hermother had said, and on the other hand she might be thinking of the man inthe moon."Why don't you answer when you're spoken to, Sally?" remarked her mother,a little irritably."I thought he was a silly.""Aren't you going to have him then?""No, I'm not.""I don't know how much more you want," said Mrs. Athelny, and it was quiteclear now that she was put out. "He's a very decent young fellow and hecan afford to give you a thorough good home. We've got quite enough tofeed here without you. If you get a chance like that it's wicked not totake it. And I daresay you'd be able to have a girl to do the rough work."Philip had never before heard Mrs. Athelny refer so directly to thedifficulties of her life. He saw how important it was that each childshould be provided for."It's no good your carrying on, mother," said Sally in her quiet way. "I'mnot going to marry him.""I think you're a very hard-hearted, cruel, selfish girl.""If you want me to earn my own living, mother, I can always go intoservice.""Don't be so silly, you know your father would never let you do that."Philip caught Sally's eye, and he thought there was in it a glimmer ofamusement. He wondered what there had been in the conversation to touchher sense of humour. She was an odd girl.