Of Human Bondage by W. Somerset Maugham (classic english novels .TXT) 📕

next day with a smiling face; when she excused herself, he said it did not matter. He never let her see that she pained him. He understood that his passionate grief had wearied her, and he took care to hide every sentiment which could be in the least degree troublesome. He was heroic.

Though she never mentioned the change, for she did not take any conscious notice of it, it affected her nevertheless: she became more confidential with him; she took her little grievances to him, and she always had some grievance against the manageress of the shop, one of her fellow waitresses, or her aunt; she was talkative enough now, and though she never said anything that was not trivial Philip was never tired of listening to her.

“I like you when you don’t want to make love to me,” she told him once.

“That’s flattering for me,” he laughed.

She did not realise how her words made his heart sink nor what an effort it needed for him to answer so lightly.

“Oh, I don’t mind your kissing me now and then. It doesn’t hurt me and it gives you pleasure.”

Occasionally she went so far as to ask him to take her out to dinner, and the offer, coming from her, filled him with rapture.

“I wouldn’t do it to anyone else,” she said, by way of apology. “But I know I can with you.”

“You couldn’t give me greater pleasure,” he smiled.

She asked him to give her something to eat one evening towards the end of April.

“All right,” he said. “Where would you like to go afterwards?”

“Oh, don’t let’s go anywhere. Let’s just sit and talk. You don’t mind, do you?”

“Rather not.”

He thought she must be beginning to care for him. Three months before the thought of an evening spent in conversation would have bored her to death. It was a fine day, and the spring added to Philip’s high spirits. He was content with very little now.

“I say, won’t it be ripping when the summer comes along,” he said, as they drove along on the top of a bus to Soho⁠—she had herself suggested that they should not be so extravagant as to go by cab. “We shall be able to spend every Sunday on the river. We’ll take our luncheon in a basket.”

She smiled slightly, and he was encouraged to take her hand. She did not withdraw it.

“I really think you’re beginning to like me a bit,” he smiled.

“You are silly, you know I like you, or else I shouldn’t be here, should I?”

They were old customers at the little restaurant in Soho by now, and the patronne gave them a smile as they came in. The waiter was obsequious.

“Let me order the dinner tonight,” said Mildred.

Philip, thinking her more enchanting than ever, gave her the menu, and she chose her favourite dishes. The range was small, and they had eaten many times all that the restaurant could provide. Philip was gay. He looked into her eyes, and he dwelt on every perfection of her pale cheek. When they had finished Mildred by way of exception took a cigarette. She smoked very seldom.

“I don’t like to see a lady smoking,” she said.

She hesitated a moment and then spoke.

“Were you surprised, my asking you to take me out and give me a bit of dinner tonight?”

“I was delighted.”

“I’ve got something to say to you, Philip.”

He looked at her quickly, his heart sank, but he had trained himself well.

“Well, fire away,” he said, smiling.

“You’re not going to be silly about it, are you? The fact is I’m going to get married.”

“Are you?” said Philip.

He could think of nothing else to say. He had considered the possibility often and had imagined to himself what he would do and say. He had suffered agonies when he thought of the despair he would suffer, he had thought of suicide, of the mad passion of anger that would seize him; but perhaps he had too completely anticipated the emotion he would experience, so that now he felt merely exhausted. He felt as one does in a serious illness when the vitality is so low that one is indifferent to the issue and wants only to be left alone.

“You see, I’m getting on,” she said. “I’m twenty-four and it’s time I settled down.”

He was silent. He looked at the patronne sitting behind the counter, and his eye dwelt on a red feather one of the diners wore in her hat. Mildred was nettled.

“You might congratulate me,” she said.

“I might, mightn’t I? I can hardly believe it’s true. I’ve dreamt it so often. It rather tickles me that I should have been so jolly glad that you asked me to take you out to dinner. Whom are you going to marry?”

“Miller,” she answered, with a slight blush.

“Miller?” cried Philip, astounded. “But you’ve not seen him for months.”

“He came in to lunch one day last week and asked me then. He’s earning very good money. He makes seven pounds a week now and he’s got prospects.”

Philip was silent again. He remembered that she had always liked Miller; he amused her; there was in his foreign birth an exotic charm which she felt unconsciously.

“I suppose it was inevitable,” he said at last. “You were bound to accept the highest bidder. When are you going to marry?”

“On Saturday next. I have given notice.”

Philip felt a sudden pang.

“As soon as that?”

“We’re going to be married at a registry office. Emil prefers it.”

Philip felt dreadfully tired. He wanted to get away from her. He thought he would go straight to bed. He called for the bill.

“I’ll put you in a cab and send you down to Victoria. I daresay you won’t have to wait long for a train.”

“Won’t you come with me?”

“I think I’d rather not if you don’t mind.”

“It’s just as you please,” she answered haughtily. “I suppose I shall see you at teatime tomorrow?”

“No, I think we’d better make a full stop now. I don’t see why I should