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

a turkey, but Mildred roasted a chicken and boiled a Christmas pudding which she had bought at a local grocer’s. They stood themselves a bottle of wine. When they had dined Philip sat in his armchair by the fire, smoking his pipe; and the unaccustomed wine had made him forget for a while the anxiety about money which was so constantly with him. He felt happy and comfortable. Presently Mildred came in to tell him that the baby wanted him to kiss her good night, and with a smile he went into Mildred’s bedroom. Then, telling the child to go to sleep, he turned down the gas and, leaving the door open in case she cried, went back into the sitting-room.

“Where are you going to sit?” he asked Mildred.

“You sit in your chair. I’m going to sit on the floor.”

When he sat down she settled herself in front of the fire and leaned against his knees. He could not help remembering that this was how they had sat together in her rooms in the Vauxhall Bridge Road, but the positions had been reversed; it was he who had sat on the floor and leaned his head against her knee. How passionately he had loved her then! Now he felt for her a tenderness he had not known for a long time. He seemed still to feel twined round his neck the baby’s soft little arms.

“Are you comfy?” he asked.

She looked up at him, gave a slight smile, and nodded. They gazed into the fire dreamily, without speaking to one another. At last she turned round and stared at him curiously.

“D’you know that you haven’t kissed me once since I came here?” she said suddenly.

“D’you want me to?” he smiled.

“I suppose you don’t care for me in that way any more?”

“I’m very fond of you.”

“You’re much fonder of baby.”

He did not answer, and she laid her cheek against his hand.

“You’re not angry with me any more?” she asked presently, with her eyes cast down.

“Why on earth should I be?”

“I’ve never cared for you as I do now. It’s only since I passed through the fire that I’ve learnt to love you.” It chilled Philip to hear her make use of the sort of phrase she read in the penny novelettes which she devoured. Then he wondered whether what she said had any meaning for her: perhaps she knew no other way to express her genuine feelings than the stilted language of the Family Herald.

“It seems so funny our living together like this.”

He did not reply for quite a long time, and silence fell upon them again; but at last he spoke and seemed conscious of no interval.

“You mustn’t be angry with me. One can’t help these things. I remember that I thought you wicked and cruel because you did this, that, and the other; but it was very silly of me. You didn’t love me, and it was absurd to blame you for that. I thought I could make you love me, but I know now that was impossible. I don’t know what it is that makes someone love you, but whatever it is, it’s the only thing that matters, and if it isn’t there you won’t create it by kindness, or generosity, or anything of that sort.”

“I should have thought if you’d loved me really you’d have loved me still.”

“I should have thought so too. I remember how I used to think that it would last forever, I felt I would rather die than be without you, and I used to long for the time when you would be faded and wrinkled so that nobody cared for you any more and I should have you all to myself.”

She did not answer, and presently she got up and said she was going to bed. She gave a timid little smile.

“It’s Christmas Day, Philip, won’t you kiss me good night?”

He gave a laugh, blushed slightly, and kissed her. She went to her bedroom and he began to read.

XCVI

The climax came two or three weeks later. Mildred was driven by Philip’s behaviour to a pitch of strange exasperation. There were many different emotions in her soul, and she passed from mood to mood with facility. She spent a great deal of time alone and brooded over her position. She did not put all her feelings into words, she did not even know what they were, but certain things stood out in her mind, and she thought of them over and over again. She had never understood Philip, nor had very much liked him; but she was pleased to have him about her because she thought he was a gentleman. She was impressed because his father had been a doctor and his uncle was a clergyman. She despised him a little because she had made such a fool of him, and at the same time was never quite comfortable in his presence; she could not let herself go, and she felt that he was criticising her manners.

When she first came to live in the little rooms in Kennington she was tired out and ashamed. She was glad to be left alone. It was a comfort to think that there was no rent to pay; she need not go out in all weathers, and she could lie quietly in bed if she did not feel well. She had hated the life she led. It was horrible to have to be affable and subservient; and even now when it crossed her mind she cried with pity for herself as she thought of the roughness of men and their brutal language. But it crossed her mind very seldom. She was grateful to Philip for coming to her rescue, and when she remembered how honestly he had loved her and how badly she had treated him, she felt a pang of remorse. It was easy to make it up to him. It meant very little to her. She was surprised when