Of Human Bondage (70 page)

  "It's about time we went out to dinner,
Mildred."

  There was a moment's pause, and Griffiths seemed to
be considering.

  "Well, I'll be getting along," he said at last. "I
didn't know it was so late."

  "Are you doing anything tonight?" asked Mildred.

  "No."

  There was another silence. Philip felt slightly
irritated.

  "I'll just go and have a wash," he said, and to
Mildred he added: "Would you like to wash your hands?"

  She did not answer him.

  "Why don't you come and dine with us?" she said to
Griffiths.

  He looked at Philip and saw him staring at him
sombrely.

  "I dined with you last night," he laughed. "I should
be in the way."

  "Oh, that doesn't matter," insisted Mildred. "Make
him come, Philip. He won't be in the way, will he?"

  "Let him come by all means if he'd like to."

  "All right, then," said Griffiths promptly. "I'll
just go upstairs and tidy myself."

  The moment he left the room Philip turned to Mildred
angrily.

  "Why on earth did you ask him to dine with us?"

  "I couldn't help myself. It would have looked so
funny to say nothing when he said he wasn't doing anything."

  "Oh, what rot! And why the hell did you ask him if
he was doing anything?"

  Mildred's pale lips tightened a little.

  "I want a little amusement sometimes. I get tired
always being alone with you."

  They heard Griffiths coming heavily down the stairs,
and Philip went into his bed-room to wash. They dined in the
neighbourhood in an Italian restaurant. Philip was cross and
silent, but he quickly realised that he was showing to disadvantage
in comparison with Griffiths, and he forced himself to hide his
annoyance. He drank a good deal of wine to destroy the pain that
was gnawing at his heart, and he set himself to talk. Mildred, as
though remorseful for what she had said, did all she could to make
herself pleasant to him. She was kindly and affectionate. Presently
Philip began to think he had been a fool to surrender to a feeling
of jealousy. After dinner when they got into a hansom to drive to a
music-hall Mildred, sitting between the two men, of her own accord
gave him her hand. His anger vanished. Suddenly, he knew not how,
he grew conscious that Griffiths was holding her other hand. The
pain seized him again violently, it was a real physical pain, and
he asked himself, panic-stricken, what he might have asked himself
before, whether Mildred and Griffiths were in love with one
another. He could not see anything of the performance on account of
the mist of suspicion, anger, dismay, and wretchedness which seemed
to be before his eyes; but he forced himself to conceal the fact
that anything was the matter; he went on talking and laughing. Then
a strange desire to torture himself seized him, and he got up,
saying he wanted to go and drink something. Mildred and Griffiths
had never been alone together for a moment. He wanted to leave them
by themselves.

  "I'll come too," said Griffiths. "I've got rather a
thirst on."

  "Oh, nonsense, you stay and talk to Mildred."

  Philip did not know why he said that. He was
throwing them together now to make the pain he suffered more
intolerable. He did not go to the bar, but up into the balcony,
from where he could watch them and not be seen. They had ceased to
look at the stage and were smiling into one another's eyes.
Griffiths was talking with his usual happy fluency and Mildred
seemed to hang on his lips. Philip's head began to ache
frightfully. He stood there motionless. He knew he would be in the
way if he went back. They were enjoying themselves without him, and
he was suffering, suffering. Time passed, and now he had an
extraordinary shyness about rejoining them. He knew they had not
thought of him at all, and he reflected bitterly that he had paid
for the dinner and their seats in the music-hall. What a fool they
were making of him! He was hot with shame. He could see how happy
they were without him. His instinct was to leave them to themselves
and go home, but he had not his hat and coat, and it would
necessitate endless explanations. He went back. He felt a shadow of
annoyance in Mildred's eyes when she saw him, and his heart
sank.

  "You've been a devil of a time," said Griffiths,
with a smile of welcome.

  "I met some men I knew. I've been talking to them,
and I couldn't get away. I thought you'd be all right
together."

  "I've been enjoying myself thoroughly," said
Griffiths. "I don't know about Mildred."

  She gave a little laugh of happy complacency. There
was a vulgar sound in the ring of it that horrified Philip. He
suggested that they should go.

  "Come on," said Griffiths, "we'll both drive you
home."

  Philip suspected that she had suggested that
arrangement so that she might not be left alone with him. In the
cab he did not take her hand nor did she offer it, and he knew all
the time that she was holding Griffiths'. His chief thought was
that it was all so horribly vulgar. As they drove along he asked
himself what plans they had made to meet without his knowledge, he
cursed himself for having left them alone, he had actually gone out
of his way to enable them to arrange things.

  "Let's keep the cab," said Philip, when they reached
the house in which Mildred was lodging. "I'm too tired to walk
home."

  On the way back Griffiths talked gaily and seemed
indifferent to the fact that Philip answered in monosyllables.
Philip felt he must notice that something was the matter. Philip's
silence at last grew too significant to struggle against, and
Griffiths, suddenly nervous, ceased talking. Philip wanted to say
something, but he was so shy he could hardly bring himself to, and
yet the time was passing and the opportunity would be lost. It was
best to get at the truth at once. He forced himself to speak.

  "Are you in love with Mildred?" he asked
suddenly.

  "I?" Griffiths laughed. "Is that what you've been so
funny about this evening? Of course not, my dear old man."

  He tried to slip his hand through Philip's arm, but
Philip drew himself away. He knew Griffiths was lying. He could not
bring himself to force Griffiths to tell him that he had not been
holding the girl's hand. He suddenly felt very weak and broken.

  "It doesn't matter to you, Harry," he said. "You've
got so many women – don't take her away from me. It means my whole
life. I've been so awfully wretched."

  His voice broke, and he could not prevent the sob
that was torn from him. He was horribly ashamed of himself.

  "My dear old boy, you know I wouldn't do anything to
hurt you. I'm far too fond of you for that. I was only playing the
fool. If I'd known you were going to take it like that I'd have
been more careful."

  "Is that true?" asked Philip.

  "I don't care a twopenny damn for her. I give you my
word of honour."

  Philip gave a sigh of relief. The cab stopped at
their door.

  Next day Philip was in a good temper. He was very
anxious not to bore Mildred with too much of his society, and so
had arranged that he should not see her till dinner-time. She was
ready when he fetched her, and he chaffed her for her unwonted
punctuality. She was wearing a new dress he had given her. He
remarked on its smartness.

  "It'll have to go back and be altered," she said.
"The skirt hangs all wrong."

  "You'll have to make the dressmaker hurry up if you
want to take it to Paris with you."

  "It'll be ready in time for that."

  "Only three more whole days. We'll go over by the
eleven o'clock, shall we?"

  "If you like."

  He would have her for nearly a month entirely to
himself. His eyes rested on her with hungry adoration. He was able
to laugh a little at his own passion.

  "I wonder what it is I see in you," he smiled.

  "That's a nice thing to say," she answered.

  Her body was so thin that one could almost see her
skeleton. Her chest was as flat as a boy's. Her mouth, with its
narrow pale lips, was ugly, and her skin was faintly green.

  "I shall give you Blaud's Pills in quantities when
we're away," said Philip, laughing. "I'm going to bring you back
fat and rosy."

  "I don't want to get fat," she said.

  She did not speak of Griffiths, and presently while
they were dining Philip half in malice, for he felt sure of himself
and his power over her, said:

  "It seems to me you were having a great flirtation
with Harry last night?"

  "I told you I was in love with him," she
laughed.

  "I'm glad to know that he's not in love with
you."

  "How d'you know?"

  "I asked him."

  She hesitated a moment, looking at Philip, and a
curious gleam came into her eyes.

  "Would you like to read a letter I had from him this
morning?"

  She handed him an envelope and Philip recognised
Griffiths' bold, legible writing. There were eight pages. It was
well written, frank and charming; it was the letter of a man who
was used to making love to women. He told Mildred that he loved her
passionately, he had fallen in love with her the first moment he
saw her; he did not want to love her, for he knew how fond Philip
was of her, but he could not help himself. Philip was such a dear,
and he was very much ashamed of himself, but it was not his fault,
he was just carried away. He paid her delightful compliments.
Finally he thanked her for consenting to lunch with him next day
and said he was dreadfully impatient to see her. Philip noticed
that the letter was dated the night before; Griffiths must have
written it after leaving Philip, and had taken the trouble to go
out and post it when Philip thought he was in bed.

  He read it with a sickening palpitation of his
heart, but gave no outward sign of surprise. He handed it back to
Mildred with a smile, calmly.

  "Did you enjoy your lunch?"

  "Rather," she said emphatically.

  He felt that his hands were trembling, so he put
them under the table.

  "You mustn't take Griffiths too seriously. He's just
a butterfly, you know."

  She took the letter and looked at it again.

  "I can't help it either," she said, in a voice which
she tried to make nonchalant. "I don't know what's come over
me."

  "It's a little awkward for me, isn't it?" said
Philip.

  She gave him a quick look.

  "You're taking it pretty calmly, I must say."

  "What do you expect me to do? Do you want me to tear
out my hair in handfuls?"

  "I knew you'd be angry with me."

  "The funny thing is, I'm not at all. I ought to have
known this would happen. I was a fool to bring you together. I know
perfectly well that he's got every advantage over me; he's much
jollier, and he's very handsome, he's more amusing, he can talk to
you about the things that interest you."

  "I don't know what you mean by that. If I'm not
clever I can't help it, but I'm not the fool you think I am, not by
a long way, I can tell you. You're a bit too superior for me, my
young friend."

  "D'you want to quarrel with me?" he asked
mildly.

  "No, but I don't see why you should treat me as if I
was I don't know what."

  "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend you. I just
wanted to talk things over quietly. We don't want to make a mess of
them if we can help it. I saw you were attracted by him and it
seemed to me very natural. The only thing that really hurts me is
that he should have encouraged you. He knew how awfully keen I was
on you. I think it's rather shabby of him to have written that
letter to you five minutes after he told me he didn't care twopence
about you."

  "If you think you're going to make me like him any
the less by saying nasty things about him, you're mistaken."