Of Human Bondage - W. Somerset Maugham [163]
“What are you doing here?” she said.
“Taking the air,” he answered.
“You’re spying on me, you dirty little cad. I thought you was a gentleman.”
“Did you think a gentleman would be likely to take any interest in you?” he murmured.
There was a devil within him which forced him to make matters worse. He wanted to hurt her as much as she was hurting him.
“I suppose I can change my mind if I like. I’m not obliged to come out with you. I tell you I’m going home, and I won’t be followed or spied upon.”
“Have you seen Miller today?”
“That’s no business of yours. In point of fact I haven’t, so you’re wrong again.”
“I saw him this afternoon. He’d just come out of the shop when I went in.”
“Well, what if he did? I can go out with him if I want to, can’t I? I don’t know what you’ve got to say to it.”
“He’s keeping you waiting, isn’t he?”
“Well, I’d rather wait for him than have you wait for me. Put that in your pipe and smoke it. And now p’raps you’ll go off home and mind your own business in future.”
His mood changed suddenly from anger to despair, and his voice trembled when he spoke.
“I say, don’t be beastly with me, Mildred. You know I’m awfully fond of you. I think I love you with all my heart. Won’t you change your mind? I was looking forward to this evening so awfully. You see, he hasn’t come, and he can’t care twopence about you really. Won’t you dine with me? I’ll get some more tickets, and we’ll go anywhere you like.”
“I tell you I won’t. It’s no good you talking. I’ve made up my mind, and when I make up my mind I keep to it.”
He looked at her for a moment. His heart was torn with anguish. People were hurrying past them on the pavement, and cabs and omnibuses rolled by noisily. He saw that Mildred’s eyes were wandering. She was afraid of missing Miller in the crowd.
“I can’t go on like this,” groaned Philip. “It’s too degrading. If I go now I go for good. Unless you’ll come with me tonight you’ll never see me again.”
“You seem to think that’ll be an awful thing for me. All I say is, good riddance to bad rubbish.”
“Then, good-bye.”
He nodded and limped away slowly, for he hoped with all his heart that she would call him back. At the next lamp-post he stopped and looked over his shoulder. He thought she might beckon to him—he was willing to forget everything, he was ready for any humiliation—but she had turned away, and apparently had ceased to trouble about him. He realized that she was glad to be quit of him.
LIX
Philip passed the evening wretchedly. He had told his landlady that he would not be in, so there was nothing for him to eat, and he had to go to Gatti’s for dinner. Afterwards he went back to his rooms, but Griffiths on the floor above him was having a party, and the noisy merriment made his own misery more hard to bear. He went to a music-hall, but it was Saturday night and there was standing-room only: after half an hour of boredom his legs grew tired and he went home. He tried to read, but he could not fix his attention; and yet it was necessary that he should work hard. His examination in biology was in little more then a fortnight, and, though it was easy, he had neglected his lectures of late and was conscious that he knew nothing. It was only a viva, however, and he felt sure that in a fortnight he could find out enough about the subject to scrape through. He had confidence in his intelligence. He threw aside his book and gave himself up to thinking deliberately of the matter which was in his mind all the time.
He reproached himself bitterly for his behavior that evening. Why had he given her the alternative that she must dine with him or else never see him again? Of course she refused. He should have allowed for her pride. He had burnt his ships behind him. It would not be so hard to bear if he thought that she was suffering now, but he knew her too well: she was perfectly indifferent