Chapter XCII

by William Somerset Maugham

　　The following day was Tuesday. Philip as usual hurried through hisbreakfast and dashed off to get to his lecture at nine. He had only timeto exchange a few words with Mildred. When he came back in the evening hefound her seated at the window, darning his socks."I say, you are industrious," he smiled. "What have you been doing withyourself all day?""Oh, I gave the place a good cleaning and then I took baby out for alittle."She was wearing an old black dress, the same as she had worn as uniformwhen she served in the tea-shop; it was shabby, but she looked better init than in the silk of the day before. The baby was sitting on the floor.She looked up at Philip with large, mysterious eyes and broke into a laughwhen he sat down beside her and began playing with her bare toes. Theafternoon sun came into the room and shed a mellow light."It's rather jolly to come back and find someone about the place. A womanand a baby make very good decoration in a room."He had gone to the hospital dispensary and got a bottle of Blaud's Pills,He gave them to Mildred and told her she must take them after each meal.It was a remedy she was used to, for she had taken it off and on eversince she was sixteen."I'm sure Lawson would love that green skin of yours," said Philip. "He'dsay it was so paintable, but I'm terribly matter of fact nowadays, and Ishan't be happy till you're as pink and white as a milkmaid.""I feel better already."After a frugal supper Philip filled his pouch with tobacco and put on hishat. It was on Tuesdays that he generally went to the tavern in BeakStreet, and he was glad that this day came so soon after Mildred'sarrival, for he wanted to make his relations with her perfectly clear."Are you going out?" she said."Yes, on Tuesdays I give myself a night off. I shall see you tomorrow.Good-night."Philip always went to the tavern with a sense of pleasure. Macalister, thephilosophic stockbroker, was generally there and glad to argue upon anysubject under the sun; Hayward came regularly when he was in London; andthough he and Macalister disliked one another they continued out of habitto meet on that one evening in the week. Macalister thought Hayward a poorcreature, and sneered at his delicacies of sentiment: he asked satiricallyabout Hayward's literary work and received with scornful smiles his vaguesuggestions of future masterpieces; their arguments were often heated; butthe punch was good, and they were both fond of it; towards the end of theevening they generally composed their differences and thought each othercapital fellows. This evening Philip found them both there, and Lawsonalso; Lawson came more seldom now that he was beginning to know people inLondon and went out to dinner a good deal. They were all on excellentterms with themselves, for Macalister had given them a good thing on theStock Exchange, and Hayward and Lawson had made fifty pounds apiece. Itwas a great thing for Lawson, who was extravagant and earned little money:he had arrived at that stage of the portrait-painter's career when he wasnoticed a good deal by the critics and found a number of aristocraticladies who were willing to allow him to paint them for nothing (itadvertised them both, and gave the great ladies quite an air ofpatronesses of the arts); but he very seldom got hold of the solidphilistine who was ready to pay good money for a portrait of his wife.Lawson was brimming over with satisfaction."It's the most ripping way of making money that I've ever struck," hecried. "I didn't have to put my hand in my pocket for sixpence.""You lost something by not being here last Tuesday, young man," saidMacalister to Philip."My God, why didn't you write to me?" said Philip. "If you only knew howuseful a hundred pounds would be to me.""Oh, there wasn't time for that. One has to be on the spot. I heard of agood thing last Tuesday, and I asked these fellows if they'd like to havea flutter, I bought them a thousand shares on Wednesday morning, and therewas a rise in the afternoon so I sold them at once. I made fifty poundsfor each of them and a couple of hundred for myself."Philip was sick with envy. He had recently sold the last mortgage in whichhis small fortune had been invested and now had only six hundred poundsleft. He was panic-stricken sometimes when he thought of the future. Hehad still to keep himself for two years before he could be qualified, andthen he meant to try for hospital appointments, so that he could notexpect to earn anything for three years at least. With the most rigideconomy he would not have more than a hundred pounds left then. It wasvery little to have as a stand-by in case he was ill and could not earnmoney or found himself at any time without work. A lucky gamble would makeall the difference to him."Oh, well, it doesn't matter," said Macalister. "Something is sure to turnup soon. There'll be a boom in South Africans again one of these days, andthen I'll see what I can do for you."Macalister was in the Kaffir market and often told them stories of thesudden fortunes that had been made in the great boom of a year or twoback."Well, don't forget next time."They sat on talking till nearly midnight, and Philip, who lived furthestoff, was the first to go. If he did not catch the last tram he had towalk, and that made him very late. As it was he did not reach home tillnearly half past twelve. When he got upstairs he was surprised to findMildred still sitting in his arm-chair."Why on earth aren't you in bed?" he cried."I wasn't sleepy.""You ought to go to bed all the same. It would rest you."She did not move. He noticed that since supper she had changed into herblack silk dress."I thought I'd rather wait up for you in case you wanted anything."She looked at him, and the shadow of a smile played upon her thin palelips. Philip was not sure whether he understood or not. He was slightlyembarrassed, but assumed a cheerful, matter-of-fact air."It's very nice of you, but it's very naughty also. Run off to bed as fastas you can, or you won't be able to get up tomorrow morning.""I don't feel like going to bed.""Nonsense," he said coldly.She got up, a little sulkily, and went into her room. He smiled when heheard her lock the door loudly.The next few days passed without incident. Mildred settled down in her newsurroundings. When Philip hurried off after breakfast she had the wholemorning to do the housework. They ate very simply, but she liked to takea long time to buy the few things they needed; she could not be botheredto cook anything for her dinner, but made herself some cocoa and ate breadand butter; then she took the baby out in the gocart, and when she came inspent the rest of the afternoon in idleness. She was tired out, and itsuited her to do so little. She made friends with Philip's forbiddinglandlady over the rent, which he left with Mildred to pay, and within aweek was able to tell him more about his neighbours than he had learned ina year."She's a very nice woman," said Mildred. "Quite the lady. I told her wewas married.""D'you think that was necessary?""Well, I had to tell her something. It looks so funny me being here andnot married to you. I didn't know what she'd think of me.""I don't suppose she believed you for a moment.""That she did, I lay. I told her we'd been married two years--I had to saythat, you know, because of baby--only your people wouldn't hear of it,because you was only a student"--she pronounced it stoodent--"and so wehad to keep it a secret, but they'd given way now and we were all goingdown to stay with them in the summer.""You're a past mistress of the cock-and-bull story," said Philip.He was vaguely irritated that Mildred still had this passion for tellingfibs. In the last two years she had learnt nothing. But he shrugged hisshoulders."When all's said and done," he reflected, "she hasn't had much chance."It was a beautiful evening, warm and cloudless, and the people of SouthLondon seemed to have poured out into the streets. There was thatrestlessness in the air which seizes the cockney sometimes when a turn inthe weather calls him into the open. After Mildred had cleared away thesupper she went and stood at the window. The street noises came up tothem, noises of people calling to one another, of the passing traffic, ofa barrel-organ in the distance."I suppose you must work tonight, Philip?" she asked him, with a wistfulexpression."I ought, but I don't know that I must. Why, d'you want me to do anythingelse?""I'd like to go out for a bit. Couldn't we take a ride on the top of atram?""If you like.""I'll just go and put on my hat," she said joyfully.The night made it almost impossible to stay indoors. The baby was asleepand could be safely left; Mildred said she had always left it alone atnight when she went out; it never woke. She was in high spirits when shecame back with her hat on. She had taken the opportunity to put on alittle rouge. Philip thought it was excitement which had brought a faintcolour to her pale cheeks; he was touched by her child-like delight, andreproached himself for the austerity with which he had treated her. Shelaughed when she got out into the air. The first tram they saw was goingtowards Westminster Bridge and they got on it. Philip smoked his pipe, andthey looked at the crowded street. The shops were open, gaily lit, andpeople were doing their shopping for the next day. They passed amusic-hall called the Canterbury and Mildred cried out:"Oh, Philip, do let's go there. I haven't been to a music-hall formonths.""We can't afford stalls, you know.""Oh, I don't mind, I shall be quite happy in the gallery."They got down and walked back a hundred yards till they came to the doors.They got capital seats for sixpence each, high up but not in the gallery,and the night was so fine that there was plenty of room. Mildred's eyesglistened. She enjoyed herself thoroughly. There was a simple-mindednessin her which touched Philip. She was a puzzle to him. Certain things inher still pleased him, and he thought that there was a lot in her whichwas very good: she had been badly brought up, and her life was hard; hehad blamed her for much that she could not help; and it was his own faultif he had asked virtues from her which it was not in her power to give.Under different circumstances she might have been a charming girl. She wasextraordinarily unfit for the battle of life. As he watched her now inprofile, her mouth slightly open and that delicate flush on her cheeks, hethought she looked strangely virginal. He felt an overwhelming compassionfor her, and with all his heart he forgave her for the misery she hadcaused him. The smoky atmosphere made Philip's eyes ache, but when hesuggested going she turned to him with beseeching face and asked him tostay till the end. He smiled and consented. She took his hand and held itfor the rest of the performance. When they streamed out with the audienceinto the crowded street she did not want to go home; they wandered up theWestminster Bridge Road, looking at the people."I've not had such a good time as this for months," she said.Philip's heart was full, and he was thankful to the fates because he hadcarried out his sudden impulse to take Mildred and her baby into his flat.It was very pleasant to see her happy gratitude. At last she grew tiredand they jumped on a tram to go home; it was late now, and when they gotdown and turned into their own street there was no one about. Mildredslipped her arm through his."It's just like old times, Phil," she said.She had never called him Phil before, that was what Griffiths called him;and even now it gave him a curious pang. He remembered how much he hadwanted to die then; his pain had been so great that he had thought quiteseriously of committing suicide. It all seemed very long ago. He smiled athis past self. Now he felt nothing for Mildred but infinite pity. Theyreached the house, and when they got into the sitting-room Philip lit thegas."Is the baby all right?" he asked."I'll just go in and see."When she came back it was to say that it had not stirred since she leftit. It was a wonderful child. Philip held out his hand."Well, good-night.""D'you want to go to bed already?""It's nearly one. I'm not used to late hours these days," said Philip.She took his hand and holding it looked into his eyes with a little smile."Phil, the other night in that room, when you asked me to come and stayhere, I didn't mean what you thought I meant, when you said you didn'twant me to be anything to you except just to cook and that sort of thing.""Didn't you?" answered Philip, withdrawing his hand. "I did.""Don't be such an old silly," she laughed.He shook his head."I meant it quite seriously. I shouldn't have asked you to stay here onany other condition.""Why not?""I feel I couldn't. I can't explain it, but it would spoil it all."She shrugged her shoulders."Oh, very well, it's just as you choose. I'm not one to go down on myhands and knees for that, and chance it."She went out, slamming the door behind her.