Chapter LXI

by William Somerset Maugham

　　He saw her then every day. He began going to lunch at the shop, butMildred stopped him: she said it made the girls talk; so he had to contenthimself with tea; but he always waited about to walk with her to thestation; and once or twice a week they dined together. He gave her littlepresents, a gold bangle, gloves, handkerchiefs, and the like. He wasspending more than he could afford, but he could not help it: it was onlywhen he gave her anything that she showed any affection. She knew theprice of everything, and her gratitude was in exact proportion with thevalue of his gift. He did not care. He was too happy when she volunteeredto kiss him to mind by what means he got her demonstrativeness. Hediscovered that she found Sundays at home tedious, so he went down toHerne Hill in the morning, met her at the end of the road, and went tochurch with her."I always like to go to church once," she said. "it looks well, doesn'tit?"Then she went back to dinner, he got a scrappy meal at a hotel, and in theafternoon they took a walk in Brockwell Park. They had nothing much to sayto one another, and Philip, desperately afraid she was bored (she was veryeasily bored), racked his brain for topics of conversation. He realisedthat these walks amused neither of them, but he could not bear to leaveher, and did all he could to lengthen them till she became tired and outof temper. He knew that she did not care for him, and he tried to force alove which his reason told him was not in her nature: she was cold. He hadno claim on her, but he could not help being exacting. Now that they weremore intimate he found it less easy to control his temper; he was oftenirritable and could not help saying bitter things. Often they quarrelled,and she would not speak to him for a while; but this always reduced him tosubjection, and he crawled before her. He was angry with himself forshowing so little dignity. He grew furiously jealous if he saw herspeaking to any other man in the shop, and when he was jealous he seemedto be beside himself. He would deliberately insult her, leave the shop andspend afterwards a sleepless night tossing on his bed, by turns angry andremorseful. Next day he would go to the shop and appeal for forgiveness."Don't be angry with me," he said. "I'm so awfully fond of you that Ican't help myself.""One of these days you'll go too far," she answered.He was anxious to come to her home in order that the greater intimacyshould give him an advantage over the stray acquaintances she made duringher working-hours; but she would not let him."My aunt would think it so funny," she said.He suspected that her refusal was due only to a disinclination to let himsee her aunt. Mildred had represented her as the widow of a professionalman (that was her formula of distinction), and was uneasily conscious thatthe good woman could hardly be called distinguished. Philip imagined thatshe was in point of fact the widow of a small tradesman. He knew thatMildred was a snob. But he found no means by which he could indicate toher that he did not mind how common the aunt was.Their worst quarrel took place one evening at dinner when she told himthat a man had asked her to go to a play with him. Philip turned pale, andhis face grew hard and stern."You're not going?" he said."Why shouldn't I? He's a very nice gentlemanly fellow.""I'll take you anywhere you like.""But that isn't the same thing. I can't always go about with you. Besideshe's asked me to fix my own day, and I'll just go one evening when I'm notgoing out with you. It won't make any difference to you.""If you had any sense of decency, if you had any gratitude, you wouldn'tdream of going.""I don't know what you mean by gratitude. if you're referring to thethings you've given me you can have them back. I don't want them."Her voice had the shrewish tone it sometimes got."It's not very lively, always going about with you. It's always do youlove me, do you love me, till I just get about sick of it."(He knew it was madness to go on asking her that, but he could not helphimself."Oh, I like you all right," she would answer."Is that all? I love you with all my heart.""I'm not that sort, I'm not one to say much.""If you knew how happy just one word would make me!""Well, what I always say is, people must take me as they find me, and ifthey don't like it they can lump it."But sometimes she expressed herself more plainly still, and, when he askedthe question, answered:"Oh, don't go on at that again."Then he became sulky and silent. He hated her.)And now he said:"Oh, well, if you feel like that about it I wonder you condescend to comeout with me at all.""It's not my seeking, you can be very sure of that, you just force me to."His pride was bitterly hurt, and he answered madly."You think I'm just good enough to stand you dinners and theatres whenthere's no one else to do it, and when someone else turns up I can go tohell. Thank you, I'm about sick of being made a convenience.""I'm not going to be talked to like that by anyone. I'll just show you howmuch I want your dirty dinner."She got up, put on her jacket, and walked quickly out of the restaurant.Philip sat on. He determined he would not move, but ten minutes afterwardshe jumped in a cab and followed her. He guessed that she would take a 'busto Victoria, so that they would arrive about the same time. He saw her onthe platform, escaped her notice, and went down to Herne Hill in the sametrain. He did not want to speak to her till she was on the way home andcould not escape him.As soon as she had turned out of the main street, brightly lit and noisywith traffic, he caught her up."Mildred," he called.She walked on and would neither look at him nor answer. He repeated hername. Then she stopped and faced him."What d'you want? I saw you hanging about Victoria. Why don't you leave mealone?""I'm awfully sorry. Won't you make it up?""No, I'm sick of your temper and your jealousy. I don't care for you, Inever have cared for you, and I never shall care for you. I don't want tohave anything more to do with you."She walked on quickly, and he had to hurry to keep up with her."You never make allowances for me," he said. "It's all very well to bejolly and amiable when you're indifferent to anyone. It's very hard whenyou're as much in love as I am. Have mercy on me. I don't mind that youdon't care for me. After all you can't help it. I only want you to let melove you."She walked on, refusing to speak, and Philip saw with agony that they hadonly a few hundred yards to go before they reached her house. He abasedhimself. He poured out an incoherent story of love and penitence."If you'll only forgive me this time I promise you you'll never have tocomplain of me in future. You can go out with whoever you choose. I'll beonly too glad if you'll come with me when you've got nothing better todo."She stopped again, for they had reached the corner at which he always lefther."Now you can take yourself off. I won't have you coming up to the door.""I won't go till you say you'll forgive me.""I'm sick and tired of the whole thing."He hesitated a moment, for he had an instinct that he could say somethingthat would move her. It made him feel almost sick to utter the words."It is cruel, I have so much to put up with. You don't know what it is tobe a cripple. Of course you don't like me. I can't expect you to.""Philip, I didn't mean that," she answered quickly, with a sudden break ofpity in her voice. "You know it's not true."He was beginning to act now, and his voice was husky and low."Oh, I've felt it," he said.She took his hand and looked at him, and her own eyes were filled withtears."I promise you it never made any difference to me. I never thought aboutit after the first day or two."He kept a gloomy, tragic silence. He wanted her to think he was overcomewith emotion."You know I like you awfully, Philip. Only you are so trying sometimes.Let's make it up."She put up her lips to his, and with a sigh of relief he kissed her."Now are you happy again?" she asked."Madly"She bade him good-night and hurried down the road. Next day he took her ina little watch with a brooch to pin on her dress. She had been hankeringfor it.But three or four days later, when she brought him his tea, Mildred saidto him:"You remember what you promised the other night? You mean to keep that,don't you?""Yes."He knew exactly what she meant and was prepared for her next words."Because I'm going out with that gentleman I told you about tonight.""All right. I hope you'll enjoy yourself.""You don't mind, do you?"He had himself now under excellent control."I don't like it," he smiled, "but I'm not going to make myself moredisagreeable than I can help."She was excited over the outing and talked about it willingly. Philipwondered whether she did so in order to pain him or merely because she wascallous. He was in the habit of condoning her cruelty by the thought ofher stupidity. She had not the brains to see when she was wounding him."It's not much fun to be in love with a girl who has no imagination and nosense of humour," he thought, as he listened.But the want of these things excused her. He felt that if he had notrealised this he could never forgive her for the pain she caused him."He's got seats for the Tivoli," she said. "He gave me my choice and Ichose that. And we're going to dine at the Cafe Royal. He says it's themost expensive place in London.""He's a gentleman in every sense of the word," thought Philip, but heclenched his teeth to prevent himself from uttering a syllable.Philip went to the Tivoli and saw Mildred with her companion, asmooth-faced young man with sleek hair and the spruce look of a commercialtraveller, sitting in the second row of the stalls. Mildred wore a blackpicture hat with ostrich feathers in it, which became her well. She waslistening to her host with that quiet smile which Philip knew; she had novivacity of expression, and it required broad farce to excite herlaughter; but Philip could see that she was interested and amused. Hethought to himself bitterly that her companion, flashy and jovial, exactlysuited her. Her sluggish temperament made her appreciate noisy people.Philip had a passion for discussion, but no talent for small-talk. Headmired the easy drollery of which some of his friends were masters,Lawson for instance, and his sense of inferiority made him shy andawkward. The things which interested him bored Mildred. She expected mento talk about football and racing, and he knew nothing of either. He didnot know the catchwords which only need be said to excite a laugh.Printed matter had always been a fetish to Philip, and now, in order tomake himself more interesting, he read industriously The Sporting Times.