Chapter LXIX

by William Somerset Maugham

　　One afternoon, when he went back to his rooms from the hospital to washand tidy himself before going to tea as usual with Norah, as he lethimself in with his latch-key, his landlady opened the door for him."There's a lady waiting to see you," she said."Me?" exclaimed Philip.He was surprised. It would only be Norah, and he had no idea what hadbrought her."I shouldn't 'ave let her in, only she's been three times, and she seemedthat upset at not finding you, so I told her she could wait."He pushed past the explaining landlady and burst into the room. His heartturned sick. It was Mildred. She was sitting down, but got up hurriedly ashe came in. She did not move towards him nor speak. He was so surprisedthat he did not know what he was saying."What the hell d'you want?" he asked.She did not answer, but began to cry. She did not put her hands to hereyes, but kept them hanging by the side of her body. She looked like ahousemaid applying for a situation. There was a dreadful humility in herbearing. Philip did not know what feelings came over him. He had a suddenimpulse to turn round and escape from the room."I didn't think I'd ever see you again," he said at last."I wish I was dead," she moaned.Philip left her standing where she was. He could only think at the momentof steadying himself. His knees were shaking. He looked at her, and hegroaned in despair."What's the matter?" he said."He's left me--Emil."Philip's heart bounded. He knew then that he loved her as passionately asever. He had never ceased to love her. She was standing before him humbleand unresisting. He wished to take her in his arms and cover hertear-stained face with kisses. Oh, how long the separation had been! Hedid not know how he could have endured it."You'd better sit down. Let me give you a drink."He drew the chair near the fire and she sat in it. He mixed her whiskeyand soda, and, sobbing still, she drank it. She looked at him with great,mournful eyes. There were large black lines under them. She was thinnerand whiter than when last he had seen her."I wish I'd married you when you asked me," she said.Philip did not know why the remark seemed to swell his heart. He could notkeep the distance from her which he had forced upon himself. He put hishand on her shoulder."I'm awfully sorry you're in trouble."She leaned her head against his bosom and burst into hysterical crying.Her hat was in the way and she took it off. He had never dreamt that shewas capable of crying like that. He kissed her again and again. It seemedto ease her a little."You were always good to me, Philip," she said. "That's why I knew I couldcome to you.""Tell me what's happened.""Oh, I can't, I can't," she cried out, breaking away from him.He sank down on his knees beside her and put his cheek against hers."Don't you know that there's nothing you can't tell me? I can never blameyou for anything."She told him the story little by little, and sometimes she sobbed so muchthat he could hardly understand."Last Monday week he went up to Birmingham, and he promised to be back onThursday, and he never came, and he didn't come on the Friday, so I wroteto ask what was the matter, and he never answered the letter. And I wroteand said that if I didn't hear from him by return I'd go up to Birmingham,and this morning I got a solicitor's letter to say I had no claim on him,and if I molested him he'd seek the protection of the law.""But it's absurd," cried Philip. "A man can't treat his wife like that.Had you had a row?""Oh, yes, we'd had a quarrel on the Sunday, and he said he was sick of me,but he'd said it before, and he'd come back all right. I didn't think hemeant it. He was frightened, because I told him a baby was coming. I keptit from him as long as I could. Then I had to tell him. He said it was myfault, and I ought to have known better. If you'd only heard the things hesaid to me! But I found out precious quick that he wasn't a gentleman. Heleft me without a penny. He hadn't paid the rent, and I hadn't got themoney to pay it, and the woman who kept the house said such things tome--well, I might have been a thief the way she talked.""I thought you were going to take a flat.""That's what he said, but we just took furnished apartments in Highbury.He was that mean. He said I was extravagant, he didn't give me anything tobe extravagant with."She had an extraordinary way of mixing the trivial with the important.Philip was puzzled. The whole thing was incomprehensible."No man could be such a blackguard.""You don't know him. I wouldn't go back to him now not if he was to comeand ask me on his bended knees. I was a fool ever to think of him. And hewasn't earning the money he said he was. The lies he told me!"Philip thought for a minute or two. He was so deeply moved by her distressthat he could not think of himself."Would you like me to go to Birmingham? I could see him and try to makethings up.""Oh, there's no chance of that. He'll never come back now, I know him.""But he must provide for you. He can't get out of that. I don't knowanything about these things, you'd better go and see a solicitor.""How can I? I haven't got the money.""I'll pay all that. I'll write a note to my own solicitor, the sportsmanwho was my father's executor. Would you like me to come with you now? Iexpect he'll still be at his office.""No, give me a letter to him. I'll go alone."She was a little calmer now. He sat down and wrote a note. Then heremembered that she had no money. He had fortunately changed a cheque theday before and was able to give her five pounds."You are good to me, Philip," she said."I'm so happy to be able to do something for you.""Are you fond of me still?""Just as fond as ever."She put up her lips and he kissed her. There was a surrender in the actionwhich he had never seen in her before. It was worth all the agony he hadsuffered.She went away and he found that she had been there for two hours. He wasextraordinarily happy."Poor thing, poor thing," he murmured to himself, his heart glowing witha greater love than he had ever felt before.He never thought of Norah at all till about eight o'clock a telegram came.He knew before opening it that it was from her.Is anything the matter? Norah.He did not know what to do nor what to answer. He could fetch her afterthe play, in which she was walking on, was over and stroll home with heras he sometimes did; but his whole soul revolted against the idea ofseeing her that evening. He thought of writing to her, but he could notbring himself to address her as usual, dearest Norah. He made up hismind to telegraph.Sorry. Could not get away, Philip.He visualised her. He was slightly repelled by the ugly little face, withits high cheekbones and the crude colour. There was a coarseness in herskin which gave him goose-flesh. He knew that his telegram must befollowed by some action on his part, but at all events it postponed it.Next day he wired again.Regret, unable to come. Will write.Mildred had suggested coming at four in the afternoon, and he would nottell her that the hour was inconvenient. After all she came first. Hewaited for her impatiently. He watched for her at the window and openedthe front-door himself."Well? Did you see Nixon?""Yes," she answered. "He said it wasn't any good. Nothing's to be done. Imust just grin and bear it.""But that's impossible," cried Philip.She sat down wearily."Did he give any reasons?" he asked.She gave him a crumpled letter."There's your letter, Philip. I never took it. I couldn't tell youyesterday, I really couldn't. Emil didn't marry me. He couldn't. He had awife already and three children."Philip felt a sudden pang of jealousy and anguish. It was almost more thanhe could bear."That's why I couldn't go back to my aunt. There's no one I can go to butyou.""What made you go away with him?" Philip asked, in a low voice which hestruggled to make firm."I don't know. I didn't know he was a married man at first, and when hetold me I gave him a piece of my mind. And then I didn't see him formonths, and when he came to the shop again and asked me I don't know whatcame over me. I felt as if I couldn't help it. I had to go with him.""Were you in love with him?""I don't know. I couldn't hardly help laughing at the things he said. Andthere was something about him--he said I'd never regret it, he promised togive me seven pounds a week--he said he was earning fifteen, and it wasall a lie, he wasn't. And then I was sick of going to the shop everymorning, and I wasn't getting on very well with my aunt; she wanted totreat me as a servant instead of a relation, said I ought to do my ownroom, and if I didn't do it nobody was going to do it for me. Oh, I wishI hadn't. But when he came to the shop and asked me I felt I couldn't helpit."Philip moved away from her. He sat down at the table and buried his facein his hands. He felt dreadfully humiliated."You're not angry with me, Philip?" she asked piteously."No," he answered, looking up but away from her, "only I'm awfully hurt.""Why?""You see, I was so dreadfully in love with you. I did everything I couldto make you care for me. I thought you were incapable of loving anyone.It's so horrible to know that you were willing to sacrifice everything forthat bounder. I wonder what you saw in him.""I'm awfully sorry, Philip. I regretted it bitterly afterwards, I promiseyou that."He thought of Emil Miller, with his pasty, unhealthy look, his shifty blueeyes, and the vulgar smartness of his appearance; he always wore brightred knitted waistcoats. Philip sighed. She got up and went to him. She puther arm round his neck."I shall never forget that you offered to marry me, Philip."He took her hand and looked up at her. She bent down and kissed him."Philip, if you want me still I'll do anything you like now. I know you'rea gentleman in every sense of the word."His heart stood still. Her words made him feel slightly sick."It's awfully good of you, but I couldn't.""Don't you care for me any more?""Yes, I love you with all my heart.""Then why shouldn't we have a good time while we've got the chance? Yousee, it can't matter now"He released himself from her."You don't understand. I've been sick with love for you ever since I sawyou, but now--that man. I've unfortunately got a vivid imagination. Thethought of it simply disgusts me.""You are funny," she said.He took her hand again and smiled at her."You mustn't think I'm not grateful. I can never thank you enough, but yousee, it's just stronger than I am.""You are a good friend, Philip."They went on talking, and soon they had returned to the familiarcompanionship of old days. It grew late. Philip suggested that they shoulddine together and go to a music-hall. She wanted some persuasion, for shehad an idea of acting up to her situation, and felt instinctively that itdid not accord with her distressed condition to go to a place ofentertainment. At last Philip asked her to go simply to please him, andwhen she could look upon it as an act of self-sacrifice she accepted. Shehad a new thoughtfulness which delighted Philip. She asked him to take herto the little restaurant in Soho to which they had so often been; he wasinfinitely grateful to her, because her suggestion showed that happymemories were attached to it. She grew much more cheerful as dinnerproceeded. The Burgundy from the public house at the corner warmed herheart, and she forgot that she ought to preserve a dolorous countenance.Philip thought it safe to speak to her of the future."I suppose you haven't got a brass farthing, have you?" he asked, when anopportunity presented itself."Only what you gave me yesterday, and I had to give the landlady threepounds of that.""Well, I'd better give you a tenner to go on with. I'll go and see mysolicitor and get him to write to Miller. We can make him pay upsomething, I'm sure. If we can get a hundred pounds out of him it'll carryyou on till after the baby comes.""I wouldn't take a penny from him. I'd rather starve.""But it's monstrous that he should leave you in the lurch like this.""I've got my pride to consider."It was a little awkward for Philip. He needed rigid economy to make hisown money last till he was qualified, and he must have something over tokeep him during the year he intended to spend as house physician and housesurgeon either at his own or at some other hospital. But Mildred had toldhim various stories of Emil's meanness, and he was afraid to remonstratewith her in case she accused him too of want of generosity."I wouldn't take a penny piece from him. I'd sooner beg my bread. I'd haveseen about getting some work to do long before now, only it wouldn't begood for me in the state I'm in. You have to think of your health, don'tyou?""You needn't bother about the present," said Philip. "I can let you haveall you want till you're fit to work again.""I knew I could depend on you. I told Emil he needn't think I hadn't gotsomebody to go to. I told him you was a gentleman in every sense of theword."By degrees Philip learned how the separation had come about. It appearedthat the fellow's wife had discovered the adventure he was engaged induring his periodical visits to London, and had gone to the head of thefirm that employed him. She threatened to divorce him, and they announcedthat they would dismiss him if she did. He was passionately devoted to hischildren and could not bear the thought of being separated from them. Whenhe had to choose between his wife and his mistress he chose his wife. Hehad been always anxious that there should be no child to make theentanglement more complicated; and when Mildred, unable longer to concealits approach, informed him of the fact, he was seized with panic. Hepicked a quarrel and left her without more ado."When d'you expect to be confined?" asked Philip."At the beginning of March.""Three months."It was necessary to discuss plans. Mildred declared she would not remainin the rooms at Highbury, and Philip thought it more convenient too thatshe should be nearer to him. He promised to look for something next day.She suggested the Vauxhall Bridge Road as a likely neighbourhood."And it would be near for afterwards," she said."What do you mean?""Well, I should only be able to stay there about two months or a littlemore, and then I should have to go into a house. I know a very respectableplace, where they have a most superior class of people, and they take youfor four guineas a week and no extras. Of course the doctor's extra, butthat's all. A friend of mine went there, and the lady who keeps it is athorough lady. I mean to tell her that my husband's an officer in Indiaand I've come to London for my baby, because it's better for my health."It seemed extraordinary to Philip to hear her talking in this way. Withher delicate little features and her pale face she looked cold andmaidenly. When he thought of the passions that burnt within her, sounexpected, his heart was strangely troubled. His pulse beat quickly.