Chapter CXXII

by William Somerset Maugham

　　He had arranged to meet Sally on Saturday in the National Gallery. She wasto come there as soon as she was released from the shop and had agreed tolunch with him. Two days had passed since he had seen her, and hisexultation had not left him for a moment. It was because he rejoiced inthe feeling that he had not attempted to see her. He had repeated tohimself exactly what he would say to her and how he should say it. Now hisimpatience was unbearable. He had written to Doctor South and had in hispocket a telegram from him received that morning: "Sacking the mumpishfool. When will you come?" Philip walked along Parliament Street. It wasa fine day, and there was a bright, frosty sun which made the light dancein the street. It was crowded. There was a tenuous mist in the distance,and it softened exquisitely the noble lines of the buildings. He crossedTrafalgar Square. Suddenly his heart gave a sort of twist in his body; hesaw a woman in front of him who he thought was Mildred. She had the samefigure, and she walked with that slight dragging of the feet which was socharacteristic of her. Without thinking, but with a beating heart, hehurried till he came alongside, and then, when the woman turned, he saw itwas someone unknown to him. It was the face of a much older person, witha lined, yellow skin. He slackened his pace. He was infinitely relieved,but it was not only relief that he felt; it was disappointment too; he wasseized with horror of himself. Would he never be free from that passion?At the bottom of his heart, notwithstanding everything, he felt that astrange, desperate thirst for that vile woman would always linger. Thatlove had caused him so much suffering that he knew he would never, neverquite be free of it. Only death could finally assuage his desire.But he wrenched the pang from his heart. He thought of Sally, with herkind blue eyes; and his lips unconsciously formed themselves into a smile.He walked up the steps of the National Gallery and sat down in the firstroom, so that he should see her the moment she came in. It alwayscomforted him to get among pictures. He looked at none in particular, butallowed the magnificence of their colour, the beauty of their lines, towork upon his soul. His imagination was busy with Sally. It would bepleasant to take her away from that London in which she seemed an unusualfigure, like a cornflower in a shop among orchids and azaleas; he hadlearned in the Kentish hop-field that she did not belong to the town; andhe was sure that she would blossom under the soft skies of Dorset to ararer beauty. She came in, and he got up to meet her. She was in black,with white cuffs at her wrists and a lawn collar round her neck. Theyshook hands."Have you been waiting long?""No. Ten minutes. Are you hungry?""Not very.""Let's sit here for a bit, shall we?""If you like."They sat quietly, side by side, without speaking. Philip enjoyed havingher near him. He was warmed by her radiant health. A glow of life seemedlike an aureole to shine about her."Well, how have you been?" he said at last, with a little smile."Oh, it's all right. It was a false alarm.""Was it?""Aren't you glad?"An extraordinary sensation filled him. He had felt certain that Sally'ssuspicion was well-founded; it had never occurred to him for an instantthat there was a possibility of error. All his plans were suddenlyoverthrown, and the existence, so elaborately pictured, was no more thana dream which would never be realised. He was free once more. Free! Heneed give up none of his projects, and life still was in his hands for himto do what he liked with. He felt no exhilaration, but only dismay. Hisheart sank. The future stretched out before him in desolate emptiness. Itwas as though he had sailed for many years over a great waste of waters,with peril and privation, and at last had come upon a fair haven, but ashe was about to enter, some contrary wind had arisen and drove him outagain into the open sea; and because he had let his mind dwell on thesesoft meads and pleasant woods of the land, the vast deserts of the oceanfilled him with anguish. He could not confront again the loneliness andthe tempest. Sally looked at him with her clear eyes."Aren't you glad?" she asked again. "I thought you'd be as pleased asPunch."He met her gaze haggardly. "I'm not sure," he muttered."You are funny. Most men would."He realised that he had deceived himself; it was no self-sacrifice thathad driven him to think of marrying, but the desire for a wife and a homeand love; and now that it all seemed to slip through his fingers he wasseized with despair. He wanted all that more than anything in the world.What did he care for Spain and its cities, Cordova, Toledo, Leon; what tohim were the pagodas of Burmah and the lagoons of South Sea Islands?America was here and now. It seemed to him that all his life he hadfollowed the ideals that other people, by their words or their writings,had instilled into him, and never the desires of his own heart. Always hiscourse had been swayed by what he thought he should do and never by whathe wanted with his whole soul to do. He put all that aside now with agesture of impatience. He had lived always in the future, and the presentalways, always had slipped through his fingers. His ideals? He thought ofhis desire to make a design, intricate and beautiful, out of the myriad,meaningless facts of life: had he not seen also that the simplest pattern,that in which a man was born, worked, married, had children, and died, waslikewise the most perfect? It might be that to surrender to happiness wasto accept defeat, but it was a defeat better than many victories.He glanced quickly at Sally, he wondered what she was thinking, and thenlooked away again."I was going to ask you to marry me," he said."I thought p'raps you might, but I shouldn't have liked to stand in yourway.""You wouldn't have done that.""How about your travels, Spain and all that?""How d'you know I want to travel?""I ought to know something about it. I've heard you and Dad talk about ittill you were blue in the face.""I don't care a damn about all that." He paused for an instant and thenspoke in a low, hoarse whisper. "I don't want to leave you! I can't leaveyou."She did not answer. He could not tell what she thought."I wonder if you'll marry me, Sally."She did not move and there was no flicker of emotion on her face, but shedid not look at him when she answered."If you like.""Don't you want to?""Oh, of course I'd like to have a house of my own, and it's about time Iwas settling down."He smiled a little. He knew her pretty well by now, and her manner did notsurprise him."But don't you want to marry me?""There's no one else I would marry.""Then that settles it.""Mother and Dad will be surprised, won't they?""I'm so happy.""I want my lunch," she said."Dear!"He smiled and took her hand and pressed it. They got up and walked out ofthe gallery. They stood for a moment at the balustrade and looked atTrafalgar Square. Cabs and omnibuses hurried to and fro, and crowdspassed, hastening in every direction, and the sun was shining.