Chapter XCIII

by William Somerset Maugham

　　Next morning Mildred was sulky and taciturn. She remained in her room tillit was time to get the dinner ready. She was a bad cook and could dolittle more than chops and steaks; and she did not know how to use up oddsand ends, so that Philip was obliged to spend more money than he hadexpected. When she served up she sat down opposite Philip, but would eatnothing; he remarked on it; she said she had a bad headache and was nothungry. He was glad that he had somewhere to spend the rest of the day;the Athelnys were cheerful and friendly. It was a delightful and anunexpected thing to realise that everyone in that household looked forwardwith pleasure to his visit. Mildred had gone to bed when he came back, butnext day she was still silent. At supper she sat with a haughty expressionon her face and a little frown between her eyes. It made Philip impatient,but he told himself that he must be considerate to her; he was bound tomake allowance."You're very silent," he said, with a pleasant smile."I'm paid to cook and clean, I didn't know I was expected to talk aswell."He thought it an ungracious answer, but if they were going to livetogether he must do all he could to make things go easily."I'm afraid you're cross with me about the other night," he said.It was an awkward thing to speak about, but apparently it was necessary todiscuss it."I don't know what you mean," she answered."Please don't be angry with me. I should never have asked you to come andlive here if I'd not meant our relations to be merely friendly. Isuggested it because I thought you wanted a home and you would have achance of looking about for something to do.""Oh, don't think I care.""I don't for a moment," he hastened to say. "You mustn't think I'mungrateful. I realise that you only proposed it for my sake. It's just afeeling I have, and I can't help it, it would make the whole thing uglyand horrid.""You are funny" she said, looking at him curiously. "I can't make youout."She was not angry with him now, but puzzled; she had no idea what hemeant: she accepted the situation, she had indeed a vague feeling that hewas behaving in a very noble fashion and that she ought to admire it; butalso she felt inclined to laugh at him and perhaps even to despise him alittle."He's a rum customer," she thought.Life went smoothly enough with them. Philip spent all day at the hospitaland worked at home in the evening except when he went to the Athelnys' orto the tavern in Beak Street. Once the physician for whom he clerked askedhim to a solemn dinner, and two or three times he went to parties given byfellow-students. Mildred accepted the monotony of her life. If she mindedthat Philip left her sometimes by herself in the evening she nevermentioned it. Occasionally he took her to a music hall. He carried out hisintention that the only tie between them should be the domestic serviceshe did in return for board and lodging. She had made up her mind that itwas no use trying to get work that summer, and with Philip's approvaldetermined to stay where she was till the autumn. She thought it would beeasy to get something to do then."As far as I'm concerned you can stay on here when you've got a job ifit's convenient. The room's there, and the woman who did for me before cancome in to look after the baby."He grew very much attached to Mildred's child. He had a naturallyaffectionate disposition, which had had little opportunity to displayitself. Mildred was not unkind to the little girl. She looked after hervery well and once when she had a bad cold proved herself a devoted nurse;but the child bored her, and she spoke to her sharply when she bothered;she was fond of her, but had not the maternal passion which might haveinduced her to forget herself. Mildred had no demonstrativeness, and shefound the manifestations of affection ridiculous. When Philip sat with thebaby on his knees, playing with it and kissing it, she laughed at him."You couldn't make more fuss of her if you was her father," she said."You're perfectly silly with the child."Philip flushed, for he hated to be laughed at. It was absurd to be sodevoted to another man's baby, and he was a little ashamed of theoverflowing of his heart. But the child, feeling Philip's attachment,would put her face against his or nestle in his arms."It's all very fine for you," said Mildred. "You don't have any of thedisagreeable part of it. How would you like being kept awake for an hourin the middle of the night because her ladyship wouldn't go to sleep?"Philip remembered all sorts of things of his childhood which he thought hehad long forgotten. He took hold of the baby's toes."This little pig went to market, this little pig stayed at home."When he came home in the evening and entered the sitting-room his firstglance was for the baby sprawling on the floor, and it gave him a littlethrill of delight to hear the child's crow of pleasure at seeing him.Mildred taught her to call him daddy, and when the child did this for thefirst time of her own accord, laughed immoderately."I wonder if you're that stuck on baby because she's mine," asked Mildred,"or if you'd be the same with anybody's baby.""I've never known anybody else's baby, so I can't say," said Philip.Towards the end of his second term as in-patients' clerk a piece of goodfortune befell Philip. It was the middle of July. He went one Tuesdayevening to the tavern in Beak Street and found nobody there butMacalister. They sat together, chatting about their absent friends, andafter a while Macalister said to him:"Oh, by the way, I heard of a rather good thing today, New Kleinfonteins;it's a gold mine in Rhodesia. If you'd like to have a flutter you mightmake a bit."Philip had been waiting anxiously for such an opportunity, but now that itcame he hesitated. He was desperately afraid of losing money. He hadlittle of the gambler's spirit."I'd love to, but I don't know if I dare risk it. How much could I lose ifthings went wrong?""I shouldn't have spoken of it, only you seemed so keen about it,"Macalister answered coldly.Philip felt that Macalister looked upon him as rather a donkey."I'm awfully keen on making a bit," he laughed."You can't make money unless you're prepared to risk money."Macalister began to talk of other things and Philip, while he wasanswering him, kept thinking that if the venture turned out well thestockbroker would be very facetious at his expense next time they met.Macalister had a sarcastic tongue."I think I will have a flutter if you don't mind," said Philip anxiously."All right. I'll buy you two hundred and fifty shares and if I see ahalf-crown rise I'll sell them at once."Philip quickly reckoned out how much that would amount to, and his mouthwatered; thirty pounds would be a godsend just then, and he thought thefates owed him something. He told Mildred what he had done when he saw herat breakfast next morning. She thought him very silly."I never knew anyone who made money on the Stock Exchange," she said."That's what Emil always said, you can't expect to make money on the StockExchange, he said."Philip bought an evening paper on his way home and turned at once to themoney columns. He knew nothing about these things and had difficulty infinding the stock which Macalister had spoken of. He saw they had advanceda quarter. His heart leaped, and then he felt sick with apprehension incase Macalister had forgotten or for some reason had not bought.Macalister had promised to telegraph. Philip could not wait to take a tramhome. He jumped into a cab. It was an unwonted extravagance."Is there a telegram for me?" he said, as he burst in."No," said Mildred.His face fell, and in bitter disappointment he sank heavily into a chair."Then he didn't buy them for me after all. Curse him," he added violently."What cruel luck! And I've been thinking all day of what I'd do with themoney.""Why, what were you going to do?" she asked."What's the good of thinking about that now? Oh, I wanted the money sobadly."She gave a laugh and handed him a telegram."I was only having a joke with you. I opened it."He tore it out of her hands. Macalister had bought him two hundred andfifty shares and sold them at the half-crown profit he had suggested. Thecommission note was to follow next day. For one moment Philip was furiouswith Mildred for her cruel jest, but then he could only think of his joy."It makes such a difference to me," he cried. "I'll stand you a new dressif you like.""I want it badly enough," she answered."I'll tell you what I'm going to do. I'm going to be operated upon at theend of July.""Why, have you got something the matter with you?" she interrupted.It struck her that an illness she did not know might explain what had somuch puzzled her. He flushed, for he hated to refer to his deformity."No, but they think they can do something to my foot. I couldn't spare thetime before, but now it doesn't matter so much. I shall start my dressingin October instead of next month. I shall only be in hospital a few weeksand then we can go away to the seaside for the rest of the summer. It'lldo us all good, you and the baby and me.""Oh, let's go to Brighton, Philip, I like Brighton, you get such a niceclass of people there." Philip had vaguely thought of some little fishingvillage in Cornwall, but as she spoke it occurred to him that Mildredwould be bored to death there."I don't mind where we go as long as I get the sea."He did not know why, but he had suddenly an irresistible longing for thesea. He wanted to bathe, and he thought with delight of splashing about inthe salt water. He was a good swimmer, and nothing exhilarated him like arough sea."I say, it will be jolly," he cried."It'll be like a honeymoon, won't it?" she said. "How much can I have formy new dress, Phil?"