Of Human Bondage - W. Somerset Maugham [166]
But later on, when he had endured the ordeal to which he forced himself, going out into the night after the noisy conversation in the smoking-room, he was seized with a feeling of utter loneliness. He seemed to himself absurd and futile. He had an urgent need of consolation, and the temptation to see Mildred was irresistible. He though bitterly that there was small chance of consolation from her; but he wanted to see her even if he did not speak to her; after all, she was a waitress and would be obliged to serve him. She was the only person in the world he cared for. There was no use in hiding that fact from himself. Of course it would be humiliating to go back to the shop as though nothing had happened, but he had not much self-respect left. Though he would not confess it to himself, he had hoped each day that she would write to him; she knew that a letter addressed to the hospital would find him; but she had not written: it was evident that she cared nothing if she saw him again or not. And he kept on repeating to himself:
“I must see her. I must see her.”
The desire was so great that he could not give the time necessary to walk, but jumped in a cab. He was too thrifty to use one when it could possibly be avoided. He stood outside the shop for a minute or two. The thought came to him that perhaps she had left, and in terror he walked in quickly. He saw her at once. He sat down and she came up to him.
“Cup of tea and a muffin, please,” he ordered.
He could hardly speak. He was afraid for a moment that he was going to cry.
“I almost thought you was dead,” she said.
She was smiling. Smiling! She seemed to have forgotten completely that last scene which Philip had repeated to himself a hundred times.
“I thought if you’d wanted to see me you’d write,” he answered.
“I’ve got too much to do to think about writing letters.”
It seemed impossible for her to say a gracious thing. Philip cursed the fate which chained him to such a woman. She went away to fetch his tea.
“Would you like me to sit down for a minute or two?” she said, when she brought it.
“Yes.”
“Where have you been all this time?”
“I’ve been in London.”
“I thought you’d gone away for the holidays. Why haven’t you been in then?”
Philip looked at her with haggard, passionate eyes.
“Don’t you remember that I said I’d never see you again?”
“What are you doing now then?”
She seemed anxious to make him drink up the cup of his humiliation; but he knew her well enough to know that she spoke at random; she hurt him frightfully, and never even tried to. He did not answer.
“It was a nasty trick you played on me, spying on me like that. I always thought you was a gentleman in every sense of the word.”
“Don’t be beastly to me, Mildred. I can’t bear it.”
“You are a funny feller. I can’t make you out.”
“It’s very simple. I’m such a blasted fool as to love you with all my heart and soul, and I know that you don’t care two-pence for me.”
“If you had been a gentleman I think you’d have come next day and begged my pardon.”
She had no mercy. He looked at her neck and thought how he would like to jab it with the knife he had for his muffin. He knew enough anatomy to make pretty certain of getting the carotid artery. And at the same time he wanted to cover her pale, thin face with kisses.
“If I could only make you understand how frightfully I’m in love with you.”
“You haven’t begged my pardon yet.”
He grew very white. She felt that she had done nothing wrong on that occasion. She wanted him now to humble himself. He was very proud.