Chapter XC

by William Somerset Maugham

　　When he left the Athelnys' Philip walked down Chancery Lane and along theStrand to get a 'bus at the top of Parliament Street. One Sunday, when hehad known them about six weeks, he did this as usual, but he found theKennington 'bus full. It was June, but it had rained during the day andthe night was raw and cold. He walked up to Piccadilly Circus in order toget a seat; the 'bus waited at the fountain, and when it arrived thereseldom had more than two or three people in it. This service ran everyquarter of an hour, and he had some time to wait. He looked idly at thecrowd. The public-houses were closing, and there were many people about.His mind was busy with the ideas Athelny had the charming gift ofsuggesting.Suddenly his heart stood still. He saw Mildred. He had not thought of herfor weeks. She was crossing over from the corner of Shaftesbury Avenue andstopped at the shelter till a string of cabs passed by. She was watchingher opportunity and had no eyes for anything else. She wore a large blackstraw hat with a mass of feathers on it and a black silk dress; at thattime it was fashionable for women to wear trains; the road was clear, andMildred crossed, her skirt trailing on the ground, and walked downPiccadilly. Philip, his heart beating excitedly, followed her. He did notwish to speak to her, but he wondered where she was going at that hour; hewanted to get a look at her face. She walked slowly along and turned downAir Street and so got through into Regent Street. She walked up againtowards the Circus. Philip was puzzled. He could not make out what she wasdoing. Perhaps she was waiting for somebody, and he felt a great curiosityto know who it was. She overtook a short man in a bowler hat, who wasstrolling very slowly in the same direction as herself; she gave him asidelong glance as she passed. She walked a few steps more till she cameto Swan and Edgar's, then stopped and waited, facing the road. When theman came up she smiled. The man stared at her for a moment, turned awayhis head, and sauntered on. Then Philip understood.He was overwhelmed with horror. For a moment he felt such a weakness inhis legs that he could hardly stand; then he walked after her quickly; hetouched her on the arm."Mildred."She turned round with a violent start. He thought that she reddened, butin the obscurity he could not see very well. For a while they stood andlooked at one another without speaking. At last she said:"Fancy seeing you!"He did not know what to answer; he was horribly shaken; and the phrasesthat chased one another through his brain seemed incredibly melodramatic."It's awful," he gasped, almost to himself.She did not say anything more, she turned away from him, and looked downat the pavement. He felt that his face was distorted with misery."Isn't there anywhere we can go and talk?""I don't want to talk," she said sullenly. "Leave me alone, can't you?"The thought struck him that perhaps she was in urgent need of money andcould not afford to go away at that hour."I've got a couple of sovereigns on me if you're hard up," he blurted out."I don't know what you mean. I was just walking along here on my way backto my lodgings. I expected to meet one of the girls from where I work.""For God's sake don't lie now," he said.Then he saw that she was crying, and he repeated his question."Can't we go and talk somewhere? Can't I come back to your rooms?""No, you can't do that," she sobbed. "I'm not allowed to take gentlemen inthere. If you like I'll met you tomorrow."He felt certain that she would not keep an appointment. He was not goingto let her go."No. You must take me somewhere now.""Well, there is a room I know, but they'll charge six shillings for it.""I don't mind that. Where is it?"She gave him the address, and he called a cab. They drove to a shabbystreet beyond the British Museum in the neighbourhood of the Gray's InnRoad, and she stopped the cab at the corner."They don't like you to drive up to the door," she said.They were the first words either of them had spoken since getting into thecab. They walked a few yards and Mildred knocked three times, sharply, ata door. Philip noticed in the fanlight a cardboard on which was anannouncement that apartments were to let. The door was opened quietly, andan elderly, tall woman let them in. She gave Philip a stare and then spoketo Mildred in an undertone. Mildred led Philip along a passage to a roomat the back. It was quite dark; she asked him for a match, and lit thegas; there was no globe, and the gas flared shrilly. Philip saw that hewas in a dingy little bed-room with a suite of furniture, painted to looklike pine much too large for it; the lace curtains were very dirty; thegrate was hidden by a large paper fan. Mildred sank on the chair whichstood by the side of the chimney-piece. Philip sat on the edge of the bed.He felt ashamed. He saw now that Mildred's cheeks were thick with rouge,her eyebrows were blackened; but she looked thin and ill, and the red onher cheeks exaggerated the greenish pallor of her skin. She stared at thepaper fan in a listless fashion. Philip could not think what to say, andhe had a choking in his throat as if he were going to cry. He covered hiseyes with his hands."My God, it is awful," he groaned."I don't know what you've got to fuss about. I should have thought you'dhave been rather pleased."Philip did not answer, and in a moment she broke into a sob."You don't think I do it because I like it, do you?""Oh, my dear," he cried. "I'm so sorry, I'm so awfully sorry.""That'll do me a fat lot of good."Again Philip found nothing to say. He was desperately afraid of sayinganything which she might take for a reproach or a sneer."Where's the baby?" he asked at last."I've got her with me in London. I hadn't got the money to keep her on atBrighton, so I had to take her. I've got a room up Highbury way. I toldthem I was on the stage. It's a long way to have to come down to the WestEnd every day, but it's a rare job to find anyone who'll let to ladies atall.""Wouldn't they take you back at the shop?""I couldn't get any work to do anywhere. I walked my legs off looking forwork. I did get a job once, but I was off for a week because I was queer,and when I went back they said they didn't want me any more. You can'tblame them either, can you? Them places, they can't afford to have girlsthat aren't strong.""You don't look very well now," said Philip."I wasn't fit to come out tonight, but I couldn't help myself, I wantedthe money. I wrote to Emil and told him I was broke, but he never evenanswered the letter.""You might have written to me.""I didn't like to, not after what happened, and I didn't want you to knowI was in difficulties. I shouldn't have been surprised if you'd just toldme I'd only got what I deserved.""You don't know me very well, do you, even now?"For a moment he remembered all the anguish he had suffered on her account,and he was sick with the recollection of his pain. But it was no more thanrecollection. When he looked at her he knew that he no longer loved her.He was very sorry for her, but he was glad to be free. Watching hergravely, he asked himself why he had been so besotted with passion forher."You're a gentleman in every sense of the word," she said. "You're theonly one I've ever met." She paused for a minute and then flushed. "I hateasking you, Philip, but can you spare me anything?""It's lucky I've got some money on me. I'm afraid I've only got twopounds."He gave her the sovereigns."I'll pay you back, Philip.""Oh, that's all right," he smiled. "You needn't worry."He had said nothing that he wanted to say. They had talked as if the wholething were natural; and it looked as though she would go now, back to thehorror of her life, and he would be able to do nothing to prevent it. Shehad got up to take the money, and they were both standing."Am I keeping you?" she asked. "I suppose you want to be getting home.""No, I'm in no hurry," he answered."I'm glad to have a chance of sitting down."Those words, with all they implied, tore his heart, and it was dreadfullypainful to see the weary way in which she sank back into the chair. Thesilence lasted so long that Philip in his embarrassment lit a cigarette."It's very good of you not to have said anything disagreeable to me,Philip. I thought you might say I didn't know what all."He saw that she was crying again. He remembered how she had come to himwhen Emil Miller had deserted her and how she had wept. The recollectionof her suffering and of his own humiliation seemed to render moreoverwhelming the compassion he felt now."If I could only get out of it!" she moaned. "I hate it so. I'm unfit forthe life, I'm not the sort of girl for that. I'd do anything to get awayfrom it, I'd be a servant if I could. Oh, I wish I was dead."And in pity for herself she broke down now completely. She sobbedhysterically, and her thin body was shaken."Oh, you don't know what it is. Nobody knows till they've done it."Philip could not bear to see her cry. He was tortured by the horror of herposition."Poor child," he whispered. "Poor child."He was deeply moved. Suddenly he had an inspiration. It filled him with aperfect ecstasy of happiness."Look here, if you want to get away from it, I've got an idea. I'mfrightfully hard up just now, I've got to be as economical as I can; butI've got a sort of little flat now in Kennington and I've got a spareroom. If you like you and the baby can come and live there. I pay a womanthree and sixpence a week to keep the place clean and to do a littlecooking for me. You could do that and your food wouldn't come to much morethan the money I should save on her. It doesn't cost any more to feed twothan one, and I don't suppose the baby eats much."She stopped crying and looked at him."D'you mean to say that you could take me back after all that's happened?"Philip flushed a little in embarrassment at what he had to say."I don't want you to mistake me. I'm just giving you a room which doesn'tcost me anything and your food. I don't expect anything more from you thanthat you should do exactly the same as the woman I have in does. Exceptfor that I don't want anything from you at all. I daresay you can cookwell enough for that."She sprang to her feet and was about to come towards him."You are good to me, Philip.""No, please stop where you are," he said hurriedly, putting out his handas though to push her away.He did not know why it was, but he could not bear the thought that sheshould touch him."I don't want to be anything more than a friend to you.""You are good to me," she repeated. "You are good to me.""Does that mean you'll come?""Oh, yes, I'd do anything to get away from this. You'll never regret whatyou've done, Philip, never. When can I come, Philip?""You'd better come tomorrow."Suddenly she burst into tears again."What on earth are you crying for now?" he smiled."I'm so grateful to you. I don't know how I can ever make it up to you?""Oh, that's all right. You'd better go home now."He wrote out the address and told her that if she came at half past fivehe would be ready for her. It was so late that he had to walk home, but itdid not seem a long way, for he was intoxicated with delight; he seemed towalk on air.