Chapter LXIII

by William Somerset Maugham

　　Philip did not pass the examination in anatomy at the end of March. He andDunsford had worked at the subject together on Philip's skeleton, askingeach other questions till both knew by heart every attachment and themeaning of every nodule and groove on the human bones; but in theexamination room Philip was seized with panic, and failed to give rightanswers to questions from a sudden fear that they might be wrong. He knewhe was ploughed and did not even trouble to go up to the building next dayto see whether his number was up. The second failure put him definitelyamong the incompetent and idle men of his year.He did not care much. He had other things to think of. He told himselfthat Mildred must have senses like anybody else, it was only a question ofawakening them; he had theories about woman, the rip at heart, and thoughtthat there must come a time with everyone when she would yield topersistence. It was a question of watching for the opportunity, keepinghis temper, wearing her down with small attentions, taking advantage ofthe physical exhaustion which opened the heart to tenderness, makinghimself a refuge from the petty vexations of her work. He talked to her ofthe relations between his friends in Paris and the fair ladies theyadmired. The life he described had a charm, an easy gaiety, in which wasno grossness. Weaving into his own recollections the adventures of Mimiand Rodolphe, of Musette and the rest of them, he poured into Mildred'sears a story of poverty made picturesque by song and laughter, of lawlesslove made romantic by beauty and youth. He never attacked her prejudicesdirectly, but sought to combat them by the suggestion that they weresuburban. He never let himself be disturbed by her inattention, norirritated by her indifference. He thought he had bored her. By an efforthe made himself affable and entertaining; he never let himself be angry,he never asked for anything, he never complained, he never scolded. Whenshe made engagements and broke them, he met her next day with a smilingface; when she excused herself, he said it did not matter. He never lether see that she pained him. He understood that his passionate grief hadwearied her, and he took care to hide every sentiment which could be inthe least degree troublesome. He was heroic.Though she never mentioned the change, for she did not take any consciousnotice of it, it affected her nevertheless: she became more confidentialwith him; she took her little grievances to him, and she always had somegrievance against the manageress of the shop, one of her fellowwaitresses, or her aunt; she was talkative enough now, and though shenever said anything that was not trivial Philip was never tired oflistening to her."I like you when you don't want to make love to me," she told him once."That's flattering for me," he laughed.She did not realise how her words made his heart sink nor what an effortit needed for him to answer so lightly."Oh, I don't mind your kissing me now and then. It doesn't hurt me and itgives you pleasure."Occasionally she went so far as to ask him to take her out to dinner, andthe offer, coming from her, filled him with rapture."I wouldn't do it to anyone else," she said, by way of apology. "But Iknow I can with you.""You couldn't give me greater pleasure," he smiled.She asked him to give her something to eat one evening towards the end ofApril."All right," he said. "Where would you like to go afterwards?""Oh, don't let's go anywhere. Let's just sit and talk. You don't mind, doyou?""Rather not."He thought she must be beginning to care for him. Three months before thethought of an evening spent in conversation would have bored her to death.It was a fine day, and the spring added to Philip's high spirits. He wascontent with very little now."I say, won't it be ripping when the summer comes along," he said, as theydrove along on the top of a 'bus to Soho--she had herself suggested thatthey should not be so extravagant as to go by cab. "We shall be able tospend every Sunday on the river. We'll take our luncheon in a basket."She smiled slightly, and he was encouraged to take her hand. She did notwithdraw it."I really think you're beginning to like me a bit," he smiled."You are silly, you know I like you, or else I shouldn't be here,should I?"They were old customers at the little restaurant in Soho by now, and thepatronne gave them a smile as they came in. The waiter was obsequious."Let me order the dinner tonight," said Mildred.Philip, thinking her more enchanting than ever, gave her the menu, and shechose her favourite dishes. The range was small, and they had eaten manytimes all that the restaurant could provide. Philip was gay. He lookedinto her eyes, and he dwelt on every perfection of her pale cheek. Whenthey had finished Mildred by way of exception took a cigarette. She smokedvery seldom."I don't like to see a lady smoking," she said.She hesitated a moment and then spoke."Were you surprised, my asking you to take me out and give me a bit ofdinner tonight?""I was delighted.""I've got something to say to you, Philip."He looked at her quickly, his heart sank, but he had trained himself well."Well, fire away," he said, smiling."You're not going to be silly about it, are you? The fact is I'm going toget married.""Are you?" said Philip.He could think of nothing else to say. He had considered the possibilityoften and had imagined to himself what he would do and say. He hadsuffered agonies when he thought of the despair he would suffer, he hadthought of suicide, of the mad passion of anger that would seize him; butperhaps he had too completely anticipated the emotion he would experience,so that now he felt merely exhausted. He felt as one does in a seriousillness when the vitality is so low that one is indifferent to the issueand wants only to be left alone."You see, I'm getting on," she said. "I'm twenty-four and it's time Isettled down."He was silent. He looked at the patronne sitting behind the counter, andhis eye dwelt on a red feather one of the diners wore in her hat. Mildredwas nettled."You might congratulate me," she said."I might, mightn't I? I can hardly believe it's true. I've dreamt it sooften. It rather tickles me that I should have been so jolly glad that youasked me to take you out to dinner. Whom are you going to marry?""Miller," she answered, with a slight blush."Miller?" cried Philip, astounded. "But you've not seen him for months.""He came in to lunch one day last week and asked me then. He's earningvery good money. He makes seven pounds a week now and he's got prospects."Philip was silent again. He remembered that she had always liked Miller;he amused her; there was in his foreign birth an exotic charm which shefelt unconsciously."I suppose it was inevitable," he said at last. "You were bound to acceptthe highest bidder. When are you going to marry?""On Saturday next. I have given notice."Philip felt a sudden pang."As soon as that?""We're going to be married at a registry office. Emil prefers it."Philip felt dreadfully tired. He wanted to get away from her. He thoughthe would go straight to bed. He called for the bill."I'll put you in a cab and send you down to Victoria. I daresay you won'thave to wait long for a train.""Won't you come with me?""I think I'd rather not if you don't mind.""It's just as you please," she answered haughtily. "I suppose I shall seeyou at tea-time tomorrow?""No, I think we'd better make a full stop now. I don't see why I should goon making myself unhappy. I've paid the cab."He nodded to her and forced a smile on his lips, then jumped on a 'bus andmade his way home. He smoked a pipe before he went to bed, but he couldhardly keep his eyes open. He suffered no pain. He fell into a heavy sleepalmost as soon as his head touched the pillow.