Of Human Bondage (65 page)

  It seemed extraordinary to Philip to hear her
talking in this way. With her delicate little features and her pale
face she looked cold and maidenly. When he thought of the passions
that burnt within her, so unexpected, his heart was strangely
troubled. His pulse beat quickly.

  Philip expected to find a letter from Norah when he
got back to his rooms, but there was nothing; nor did he receive
one the following morning. The silence irritated and at the same
time alarmed him. They had seen one another every day he had been
in London since the previous June; and it must seem odd to her that
he should let two days go by without visiting her or offering a
reason for his absence; he wondered whether by an unlucky chance
she had seen him with Mildred. He could not bear to think that she
was hurt or unhappy, and he made up his mind to call on her that
afternoon. He was almost inclined to reproach her because he had
allowed himself to get on such intimate terms with her. The thought
of continuing them filled him with disgust.

  He found two rooms for Mildred on the second floor
of a house in the Vauxhall Bridge Road. They were noisy, but he
knew that she liked the rattle of traffic under her windows.

  "I don't like a dead and alive street where you
don't see a soul pass all day," she said. "Give me a bit of
life."

  Then he forced himself to go to Vincent Square. He
was sick with apprehension when he rang the bell. He had an uneasy
sense that he was treating Norah badly; he dreaded reproaches; he
knew she had a quick temper, and he hated scenes: perhaps the best
way would be to tell her frankly that Mildred had come back to him
and his love for her was as violent as it had ever been; he was
very sorry, but he had nothing to offer Norah any more. Then he
thought of her anguish, for he knew she loved him; it had flattered
him before, and he was immensely grateful; but now it was horrible.
She had not deserved that he should inflict pain upon her. He asked
himself how she would greet him now, and as he walked up the stairs
all possible forms of her behaviour flashed across his mind. He
knocked at the door. He felt that he was pale, and wondered how to
conceal his nervousness.

  She was writing away industriously, but she sprang
to her feet as he entered.

  "I recognised your step," she cried. "Where have you
been hiding yourself, you naughty boy?"

  She came towards him joyfully and put her arms round
his neck. She was delighted to see him. He kissed her, and then, to
give himself countenance, said he was dying for tea. She bustled
the fire to make the kettle boil.

  "I've been awfully busy," he said lamely.

  She began to chatter in her bright way, telling him
of a new commission she had to provide a novelette for a firm which
had not hitherto employed her. She was to get fifteen guineas for
it.

  "It's money from the clouds. I'll tell you what
we'll do, we'll stand ourselves a little jaunt. Let's go and spend
a day at Oxford, shall we? I'd love to see the colleges."

  He looked at her to see whether there was any shadow
of reproach in her eyes; but they were as frank and merry as ever:
she was overjoyed to see him. His heart sank. He could not tell her
the brutal truth. She made some toast for him, and cut it into
little pieces, and gave it him as though he were a child.

  "Is the brute fed?" she asked.

  He nodded, smiling; and she lit a cigarette for him.
Then, as she loved to do, she came and sat on his knees. She was
very light. She leaned back in his arms with a sigh of delicious
happiness.

  "Say something nice to me," she murmured.

  "What shall I say?"

  "You might by an effort of imagination say that you
rather liked me."

  "You know I do that."

  He had not the heart to tell her then. He would give
her peace at all events for that day, and perhaps he might write to
her. That would be easier. He could not bear to think of her
crying. She made him kiss her, and as he kissed her he thought of
Mildred and Mildred's pale, thin lips. The recollection of Mildred
remained with him all the time, like an incorporated form, but more
substantial than a shadow; and the sight continually distracted his
attention.

  "You're very quiet today," Norah said.

  Her loquacity was a standing joke between them, and
he answered:

  "You never let me get a word in, and I've got out of
the habit of talking."

  "But you're not listening, and that's bad
manners."

  He reddened a little, wondering whether she had some
inkling of his secret; he turned away his eyes uneasily. The weight
of her irked him this afternoon, and he did not want her to touch
him.

  "My foot's gone to sleep," he said.

  "I'm so sorry," she cried, jumping up. "I shall have
to bant if I can't break myself of this habit of sitting on
gentlemen's knees."

  He went through an elaborate form of stamping his
foot and walking about. Then he stood in front of the fire so that
she should not resume her position. While she talked he thought
that she was worth ten of Mildred; she amused him much more and was
jollier to talk to; she was cleverer, and she had a much nicer
nature. She was a good, brave, honest little woman; and Mildred, he
thought bitterly, deserved none of these epithets. If he had any
sense he would stick to Norah, she would make him much happier than
he would ever be with Mildred: after all she loved him, and Mildred
was only grateful for his help. But when all was said the important
thing was to love rather than to be loved; and he yearned for
Mildred with his whole soul. He would sooner have ten minutes with
her than a whole afternoon with Norah, he prized one kiss of her
cold lips more than all Norah could give him.

  "I can't help myself," he thought. "I've just got
her in my bones."

  He did not care if she was heartless, vicious and
vulgar, stupid and grasping, he loved her. He would rather have
misery with the one than happiness with the other.

  When he got up to go Norah said casually:

  "Well, I shall see you tomorrow, shan't I?"

  "Yes," he answered.

  He knew that he would not be able to come, since he
was going to help Mildred with her moving, but he had not the
courage to say so. He made up his mind that he would send a wire.
Mildred saw the rooms in the morning, was satisfied with them, and
after luncheon Philip went up with her to Highbury. She had a trunk
for her clothes and another for the various odds and ends,
cushions, lampshades, photograph frames, with which she had tried
to give the apartments a home-like air; she had two or three large
cardboard boxes besides, but in all there was no more than could be
put on the roof of a four-wheeler. As they drove through Victoria
Street Philip sat well back in the cab in case Norah should happen
to be passing. He had not had an opportunity to telegraph and could
not do so from the post office in the Vauxhall Bridge Road, since
she would wonder what he was doing in that neighbourhood; and if he
was there he could have no excuse for not going into the
neighbouring square where she lived. He made up his mind that he
had better go in and see her for half an hour; but the necessity
irritated him: he was angry with Norah, because she forced him to
vulgar and degrading shifts. But he was happy to be with Mildred.
It amused him to help her with the unpacking; and he experienced a
charming sense of possession in installing her in these lodgings
which he had found and was paying for. He would not let her exert
herself. It was a pleasure to do things for her, and she had no
desire to do what somebody else seemed desirous to do for her. He
unpacked her clothes and put them away. She was not proposing to go
out again, so he got her slippers and took off her boots. It
delighted him to perform menial offices.

  "You do spoil me," she said, running her fingers
affectionately through his hair, while he was on his knees
unbuttoning her boots.

  He took her hands and kissed them.

  "It is nipping to have you here."

  He arranged the cushions and the photograph frames.
She had several jars of green earthenware.

  "I'll get you some flowers for them," he said.

  He looked round at his work proudly.

  "As I'm not going out any more I think I'll get into
a tea-gown," she said. "Undo me behind, will you?"

  She turned round as unconcernedly as though he were
a woman. His sex meant nothing to her. But his heart was filled
with gratitude for the intimacy her request showed. He undid the
hooks and eyes with clumsy fingers.

  "That first day I came into the shop I never thought
I'd be doing this for you now," he said, with a laugh which he
forced.

  "Somebody must do it," she answered.

  She went into the bed-room and slipped into a pale
blue tea-gown decorated with a great deal of cheap lace. Then
Philip settled her on a sofa and made tea for her.

  "I'm afraid I can't stay and have it with you," he
said regretfully. "I've got a beastly appointment. But I shall be
back in half an hour."

  He wondered what he should say if she asked him what
the appointment was, but she showed no curiosity. He had ordered
dinner for the two of them when he took the rooms, and proposed to
spend the evening with her quietly. He was in such a hurry to get
back that he took a tram along the Vauxhall Bridge Road. He thought
he had better break the fact to Norah at once that he could not
stay more than a few minutes.

  "I say, I've got only just time to say how d'you
do," he said, as soon as he got into her rooms. "I'm frightfully
busy."

  Her face fell.

  "Why, what's the matter?"

  It exasperated him that she should force him to tell
lies, and he knew that he reddened when he answered that there was
a demonstration at the hospital which he was bound to go to. He
fancied that she looked as though she did not believe him, and this
irritated him all the more.

  "Oh, well, it doesn't matter," she said. "I shall
have you all tomorrow."

  He looked at her blankly. It was Sunday, and he had
been looking forward to spending the day with Mildred. He told
himself that he must do that in common decency; he could not leave
her by herself in a strange house.

  "I'm awfully sorry, I'm engaged tomorrow."

  He knew this was the beginning of a scene which he
would have given anything to avoid. The colour on Norah's cheeks
grew brighter.

  "But I've asked the Gordons to lunch" – they were an
actor and his wife who were touring the provinces and in London for
Sunday – "I told you about it a week ago."

  "I'm awfully sorry, I forgot." He hesitated. "I'm
afraid I can't possibly come. Isn't there somebody else you can
get?"

  "What are you doing tomorrow then?"

  "I wish you wouldn't cross-examine me."

  "Don't you want to tell me?"

  "I don't in the least mind telling you, but it's
rather annoying to be forced to account for all one's
movements."

  Norah suddenly changed. With an effort of
self-control she got the better of her temper, and going up to him
took his hands.

  "Don't disappoint me tomorrow, Philip, I've been
looking forward so much to spending the day with you. The Gordons
want to see you, and we'll have such a jolly time."

  "I'd love to if I could."

  "I'm not very exacting, am I? I don't often ask you
to do anything that's a bother. Won't you get out of your horrid
engagement – just this once?"

  "I'm awfully sorry, I don't see how I can," he
replied sullenly.

  "Tell me what it is," she said coaxingly.

  He had had time to invent something. "Griffiths' two
sisters are up for the week-end and we're taking them out."

  "Is that all?" she said joyfully. "Griffiths can so
easily get another man."