第九十六章
两三个星期之后，菲利普和米尔德丽德两人龃龉的局面白热化了。米尔德丽德被菲利普的言谈举止弄得莫名其妙，愤激非常。她心里好比打翻了五味瓶，酸、甜、苦、辣、咸，各种情感一齐涌泛上来，然而她却从容自如地转换着心情。她常常独处一隅，思量着自己日下的处境。她并没有把她全部感情通过嘴说出来，甚至连那些究竟是什么样的情感都闹不清楚，然而浮现在脑海里的某些东西却是那么清晰明显。于是她反反复复地咀嚼着，回味着。她对菲利普一直不理解，也不怎么喜欢他，但有他伴在自己的身旁，她又感到高兴，因为她认为菲利普是位绅士。她之所以有这样的印象，是因为他的父亲是位医生，他的大伯又是名牧师。她又有点瞧不起他，把他当作傻瓜一样地加以戏弄，呆在他面前她心里又总觉得不是个味儿。她下不了一走了之的决心，但又感到菲利普老是在挑她的岔儿，因而心中很是不快。
刚来肯宁顿这套小房间那会儿，她心力交瘁，内心羞愧不已。能过上无人打搅的清静日子，这正是她求之不得的。一想到不用村房租，她心里舒畅极了。不管天好天环，她都不必外出，要是身体不适，还可以安安静静地躺在床上歇息。她对自己以往过的日子深恶痛绝。见人要堆三分笑，还得卑躬屈膝献殷勤，那种营生简直可怕极了。即使现在，当她回想起男人的粗鲁和他们满嘴的秽语时，当那些情景闪现在她脑际时，她忍不住还要为自己凄苦的身世悲恸欲绝地痛哭一场。不过昔日那种生涯很少出现在她的脑海里了。菲利普帮她跳出了火坑，她感激涕零。当她回忆起往日菲利普爱她爱得那么真诚而她待他又是那么不近情理，一种悔恨自责心情袭上心头。同菲利普和好如初，还不是易如反掌。在她看来，这不是什么了不得的大事。当菲利普拒绝她的建议时，她倒不觉吃了一惊，不过她只是轻蔑地耸了耸双肩：他爱摆架子就让他摆吧，她才不在乎呢。要不了多久，他就会变得心急火燎，到那时，就挨到她拒绝啦。要是菲利普认为他那么一摆架子，她就什么办法也没有了，那他就大错特错了。毫无疑问，她还是拿得住他的。菲利普那人是有点叫人捉摸不定，但是这不打紧，他的脾性她可算是摸透了。菲利普常常同她拌嘴，并一再发誓再也不要见到她，可要不了多久，他又跑回来，跪在她面前，乞求宽恕。想到菲利普拜倒在自己面前的那副丑态，米尔德丽德的心头掠过一阵狂喜。菲利普甚至会心片情愿地躺在地上，让她米尔德丽德踏着他的身子走过去。她看到过他痛哭流涕的样子。米尔德丽德可知道该怎么整治菲利普：不理睬他，任他去发脾气，自己只当没看见，故意冷落他，过不了一会儿，他肯定会跑到她面前来摇尾乞怜的。她脑海里蓦地浮现出菲利普在她面前那种奴颜卑膝的可怜相，她不觉扑哧一笑，还觉得怪开心的哩。这一下她可出了气了。男人的滋味，她算是尝够了，眼下并不想同他们发生什么瓜葛。她差不多打定主意要跟菲利普过一辈子了。说千道万，说到底，菲利普毕竟还是个地地道道的绅士，这一点总不能讥诮嘲弄吧？难道不是吗？不管怎么说，她可用不着着急，她也不准备采取主动。看到菲利普愈来愈喜欢她的女儿，米尔德丽德感到很高兴，虽说她有时也觉得可笑。他居然会那么疼爱她与另一个男人所生的孩子，这事太滑稽了。毋庸置疑，菲利普他那个人是有点儿怪。
不过，有那么一两件事情使得她颇觉诧异。菲利普对她一向百依百顺，唯命是从，对此，她倒也习以为常了。在过去，他巴不得给她跑腿做事呢。她常常看到他为自己的一句气话而神情沮丧，为自己的一句好话而欢天喜地。可现在他却变得判若两人。米尔德丽德自言自语地说，这一年来，菲利普的态度丝毫没有转变。她倒从来没料到菲利普的感情竟会起变化，这种可能性在她脑子里连间都没有闪一下，她总以为她发脾气的当儿菲利普那不闻不问的态度完全是假装的。有时他要读书，竟直截了当地叫她闭嘴不要做声。这当儿，她不知自己该怎么办才好，是以牙还牙，发一通火呢，还是忍气吞声，逆来顺受；她感到迷惑不解，竟什么反应也没有。接着，在一次谈话中间，菲利普告诉她，说他只想让他们俩之间的关系成为一种纯粹是精神上的爱恋关系。此时，米尔德丽德记起他俩相好时的一件事情来了，她突然以为菲利普是怕她会怀孕。为此，她苦口婆心地劝慰他，向他保证出不了纸漏，可菲利普却无动于衷，依然故我。像米尔德丽德这种女人，是不可能理解居然有男人会不像她那样迷恋肉欲的，而她本人同男人的关系则纯粹是一种肉体关系。她永远也不能理解男人还会有其他兴趣和爱好。她心中突然萌发出一个念头，认为菲利普另有所爱了。于是她暗暗观察菲利普，怀疑他同医院里的护士或外面的野女人勾搭上了。她巧妙地问了菲利普几个问题，但从他的答话中得知阿特尔涅家中没有她值得忧虑的人物。她还牵强附会地认为，菲利普同其他医科学生一样，因工作关系才同护士接触，可压根儿没有意识到她们是些女性呢。在他的脑子里，她们总是同淡淡的碘仿气味联系在一起的。没有人给菲利普来信，他的东西里也没夹着姑娘的相片。要是他心有所爱的话，他会把相片藏得好好的，可是他总是态度极其坦率地回答米尔德丽德的所有问题，从中找不出一点蛛丝马迹来。
"我深信他没有爱上任何别的女人，"米尔德丽德自言自语地说。
这件事倒使她心上的石头落了地。这么说来，菲利普当然还是爱着她米尔德丽德啰。但是，这又使菲利普的言谈举止显得难以理解。如果他真是那样对待她的话，那当初又为什么要叫她来住在这套寓所里呢？这事不是太离奇了吗！像米尔德丽德这种女人是根本想不到世间还真有可能存在着怜悯、豁达和仁慈的。她得出的唯一结论是菲利普那个人叫人捉摸不透。她甚至还认为，菲利普的举止态度只有一个理由可以解释，那就是他富有骑士风度，非常敬重女人。她的头脑塞满了廉价小说里的那些污七八糟的荒唐事，整天想入非非，对菲利普那令人伤透脑筋的行为作着种种富有浪漫色彩的解释。她的想象纵横驰骋，想起了什么痛苦的误会啦，圣火的涤罪洁身啦，雪白雪白的心灵啦，还有什么圣诞节之夜的严寒冻死人啦，等等。她决心要趁他俩在布赖顿度假期间，断了他那些荒唐念头。因为到了那儿，他们俩就能单独相处，周围的人无疑都会认为他们是一对夫妻。再说，那儿还有码头和管弦乐队呢。当她发觉任凭她说什么都不能使菲利普同她合住一个房间时，当他用一种她从未听到过的声调跟她谈论这件事时，她顿时醒悟到他根本不需要她。此时，她感到不胜惊骇。菲利普以往向她倾诉的痴情话以及昔日他狂热地钟爱着自己的情景，她至今还记忆犹新。她内心里羞恨交集，很不是滋味。但她天生有种傲慢骄横的性格，难过了一阵后也就没事了。菲利普别以为她真的爱他，其实她根本不爱他。有时，她还恨死他了，巴不得有朝一日好好羞辱他一番呢。但是她发觉自己简直无能为力，真不知有什么办法能对付他。跟他在一起的时候，米尔德丽德渐渐变得局促不安起来。她还暗暗痛哭了一两次哩。有几次，她决心对他分外友好，可是当他们并肩在寓所前街上溜达时，她一挽起菲利普的手臂，菲利普总是找个借口脱开身去，仿佛被她一碰就感到很不舒服似的。她百思不得其解。此时，她只有通过她的女儿才能对他施加影响，因为他看上去愈来愈喜欢她的女儿了：她只要给女儿一巴掌或有力的一推，都足以叫菲利普气得脸色发白。
只有当她怀抱女儿站着的时候，菲利普的双眼才会再现昔日那种温柔的笑意。有一次，一位站在海滩上的男人给她和女儿照相时，她才发现这个秘密。从那以后，她常常做出这种姿势，专门让菲利普瞧。
他们俩从布赖顿返回伦敦之后，米尔德丽德开始寻找她声称非常容易找到的工作。此时，她不再想依赖菲利普了，竟畅想起她怀着得意的心情告诉菲利普，说她即将带着孩子搬进新居的情景来了。她想那样才杀气呢。不过，当快要找到工作时，她突然变卦了。她眼下已经变得不习惯干时间老长的活儿了，也不想让女老板支来差去的，况且她的尊严使得她一想起又要穿上制服心里就反感嫌恶。她早就对她所有认识的街坊邻里说过，她跟菲利普日子过得蛮红火的，要是他们听说她不得不外出干活，那她的脸皮往哪里搁呢？她生就的惰性又执著地抬起头来。她不想离开菲利普，再说，只要他心甘情愿地供养她，她不明白自己为什么一定要走呢。诚然，他们不能大手大脚地花钱，不过她到底还有得吃，有得住呀，再说菲利普的境况还会好转的嘛。他的大伯老了，随时都可能咽气，到时候，他就可以得到一笔小小的钱财；即便是眼下这种日子，也比为了一周几个先令而从早到晚当牛做马要强得多呀。于是，她找工作的劲头松了下来，虽然她还是不停地翻阅着报纸上的广告栏，那也只是装装样子，表明只要一有值得她干的活儿，她还是想干活罢了。但是，一种恐惧感攫住了她的心，她生怕菲利普腻味了，不愿再负担她的生活费用。眼下，她根本拿不住菲利普。她思忖着，菲利普之所以还让她留在跟前，是因为他喜欢那个孩子。她心里不停地盘算着，还气呼呼地想有朝一日她一定要向菲利普报仇雪恨。对菲利普再也不喜欢她了这一点，她怎么也不甘心，她要想法子叫他喜欢自己。她气得七窍冒烟，可有时候她又莫名其妙地渴望得到菲利普。现在他的态度竟变得冷若冰霜，真把她给气死了。她就这样不断地思念着菲利普。她认为菲利普对她太残忍了，她也不知道自己到底做错了什么事而要受这份罪。她不断振振有词地说，像他们这样生活在一起，简直不近情理。转而她又想，如果情况是另外一个样，而她又即将临盆分娩，那他肯定会娶她为妻的。菲利普那个人的确古怪，不过他还是个货真价实的绅士，谁也不能否认这一点。久而久之，她都想入迷了，心里拿定主意要采取强硬措施来促使他们之间的关系有个转机。近来他一直不肯吻她，而她却很希望他能亲亲她。她至今还清晰地记得以往他是那么激情奔放地紧贴着她的嘴唇啊。每当想到这件事，她心中不由得生出一种不可名状的情感。她常常目不转睛地瞅着菲利普的嘴。
二月初的一天黄昏，菲利普关照米尔德丽德，说他晚饭要跟劳森在一起吃。那天，劳森要在他画室里办生日宴会。他还说要很迟才能回来。劳森从皮克街上的那家酒菜馆里打了几瓶他们喜欢喝的混合酒。他们准备痛痛快快玩一个晚上。米尔德丽德问那儿有没有女宾，菲利普说那儿没有女宾，只请了几个男人，他们只准备坐坐聊聊天，吸吸烟。米尔德丽德认为这种生日宴会听上去不怎么有趣，要是她是个画家的话，那非得在房间四周摆上半打模特儿不可。她独自上床睡觉，可说什么也睡不着。顿时，她计上心来，随即从床上爬起，跑去把楼梯口的插销插上，这样菲利普就进不来了。午夜一点光景，菲利普才回到寓所，这时她听到了菲利普发现插销被插上后的骂娘声。她爬下床来，跑去把插销拉开。
"你干吗要插上插销睡觉呢？噢，对不起，让我把你从床上拖了出来。"
"我特地把插销拉开的，也不晓得它怎么会插上的。"
"快回去睡觉，要不会着凉的。"
菲利普说罢，便走进起居室，捻亮煤气灯。米尔德丽德跟在他后头走了进来，径直朝壁炉跟前走去。
"我的脚冰冷的，烤烤火暖一暖。"
菲利普坐了下来，开始脱靴子。他那对眸子闪闪发亮，双颊泛着红光。她想他肯定喝酒了。
"玩得痛快吗？"米尔德丽德问罢，朝他嫣然一笑。
"当然啰，玩得可痛快啦！"
菲利普的神志很清醒，不过在劳森那儿他一直不停地说呀笑呀的，因此眼下他还是非常兴奋。这顿夜宵勾起了他对昔日在巴黎生活的情景的回忆。他心情十分激动，从口袋甲掏出烟斗，往烟斗里装着烟丝。
"你还不睡吗？"米尔德丽德问道。
"还不想睡，连一点睡意都没有。劳森的劲头可足了。从我到他画室那刻起，他的嘴巴就没有停过，一直滔滔不绝地讲到我走。"
"你们谈些什么呢？"
"天晓得，海阔天空，无所不谈。你应该去瞧瞧那个场面，我们大家都扯大了嗓门狂呼乱叫，可旁边就没有一个人在听。"
回忆起夜宵情景时，菲利普欢悦地哈哈笑了起来，米尔德丽德也附和着哈哈笑着。她肚里雪亮，菲利普喝酒喝过量了。她还巴不得他喝醉了呢。对男人的习性，她可真算是摸透了。
"我坐下来好吗？"她问了一声。
菲利普还没来得及回话，她已稳稳当当地一屁股坐在他的腿上了。
"你还不睡的话，那最好去披件睡衣。"
"噢，这样很好嘛。"话音刚落，她展开双臂，钩住他的脖子，把脸紧紧地贴着他的脸，接着又说："你为什么变得这么可怕的呢，菲尔？"
菲利普想站起身子，可她就是不让。
"我爱死你了，菲利普，"她说。
"别讲这种混帐话。"
"这不是假的，是真的。我没有了你就不能活下去。我需要你。"
菲利普挣脱了她钩住自己脖子的双臂。
"请站起来吧。你自己轻狎自己还不算，把我也弄得像个白痴似的。"
"我爱你，菲利普。我想弥补我过去对你的一切过错。我不能再像这个样子活下去了，这样子不合人性呀。"
菲利普从安乐椅里站了起来，把米尔德丽德独自扔在那儿。
"很抱歉，现在为时太迟了。"
米尔德丽德蓦地痛心疾首地抽泣起来。
"可为什么呢？你怎么会变得这样冷酷无情呢？"
"我想，这是因为我过去太爱你的缘故。我那股热情都耗尽了。一想起那种事情，我厌恶得浑身汗毛直竖。现在，每当我看见你，我就不能不联想起埃米尔和格里菲思来。我自己也无法控制，我想，这兴许是神经质吧。"
米尔德丽德一把抓起菲利普的手，在上面吻了个遍。
"快别这样，"菲利普不由得叫了起来。
米尔德丽德神情颓然地瘫进安乐椅中。
"我不能再像这个样子生活下去了。你不爱我，我宁可走。"
"别傻了，你没地方可去，你可以在这儿爱呆多久就呆多久。不过务必记住，我们俩除了朋友关系，别的啥关系都没有。"
猛地，米尔德丽德一反刚才那种激情奔放的神态，柔声媚气地笑了笑。她侧着身子挨近菲利普，张开双臂一把搂住了他。她操着一种轻柔的、甜蜜的声调说：
"别再傻里傻气的啦。你心里不好受，这我知道。可你还不知道我也是个好女子。"
说罢，米尔德丽德把脸依偎在菲利普的脸上，并使劲地厮磨着。可在菲利普看来，她那双笑眼是令人生厌的媚眼，从那里射出的猥亵的目光使得他心里充满了恐怖。他本能地往后退了退。
"放开我！"他喊了一声。
但是米尔德丽德就是不松手。她噘起嘴唇直往菲利普的嘴边凑过去。菲利普抓住她的双手，粗暴地把它们掰开，然后猛地把她推开去。
"你真使人讨厌！"他喝道。
"我？"
米尔德丽德伸出一只手撑着壁炉稳了稳身子，定睛瞅了菲利普一会儿，双颊顿时泛起了两片红晕。她突然发出一阵尖利、愤怒的笑声。
"我还讨厌你呢！"
她顿了顿，深深地吸了口气。接着，她便拉开嗓门，破口大骂起来。凡是她能想到的脏话都写出来了。她骂出的话竟那么污秽刺耳，菲利普不觉为之愕然。过去她一向热切地要使自己变得高雅，每当听到一声粗鲁的话语都会为之变脸。菲利普倒从来没料到她居然也学会了她刚刚说出的那些脏话。她走到菲利普的跟前，把脸直冲着他的脸。她那张脸因情绪激愤而扭曲着。在她扯开嗓子滔滔不绝地骂娘的当儿，口水顺着嘴角滴答滴答直滴。
"我从来就没把你放在眼里，一天也没有过。我一直拿你当傻瓜耍。看到你，我就讨厌，讨厌极了。我恨死你了，要不是为了几个钱，我从来也不会让你碰我一个指头。我不得不让你吻我时，我心里腻味极了。格里菲思和我在背后讥笑你，笑你是个十足的蠢驴。蠢驴！蠢驴！"
接下去是一连串不堪入耳的骂人话。她把天底下所有的卑鄙行为都往菲利普头上栽，说他是个吝啬鬼，头脑迟钝，骂他金玉其外，败絮其中，为人自私刻薄。凡是菲利普很敏感的事情，她都言语刻毒地挖苦一番。最后，她猛地转过身走开去。此时，她还是歇斯底里大发作，嘴里不干不净地叫骂着。她一把抓住房门把手，使劲打开房门。接着她掉过脸来，口吐恶言，刺伤菲利普的心。她知道有句话是菲利普最忌讳听到的。于是，她把满腔的怨恨和恶意一股脑儿地倾进她的话中，憋足气冲口骂了一声，好似一记当头棒喝！
"瘸子！"
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 he refused her suggestion, but she shrugged her shoulders: let him put on airs if he liked, she did not care, he would be anxious enough in a little while, and then it would be her turn to refuse; if he thought it was any deprivation to her he was very much mistaken. She had no doubt of her power over him. He was peculiar, but she knew him through and through. He had so often quarrelled with her and sworn he would never see her again, and then in a little while he had come on his knees begging to be forgiven. It gave her a thrill to think how he had cringed before her. He would have been glad to lie down on the ground for her to walk on him. She had seen him cry. She knew exactly how to treat him, pay no attention to him, just pretend you didn’t notice his tempers, leave him severely alone, and in a little while he was sure to grovel. She laughed a little to herself, good-humouredly, when she thought how he had come and eaten dirt before her. She had had her fling now. She knew what men were and did not want to have anything more to do with them. She was quite ready to settle down with Philip. When all was said, he was a gentleman in every sense of the word, and that was something not to be sneezed at, wasn’t it? Anyhow she was in no hurry, and she was not going to take the first step. She was glad to see how fond he was growing of the baby, though it tickled her a good deal; it was comic that he should set so much store on another man’s child. He was peculiar and no mistake.
But one or two things surprised her. She had been used to his subservience: he was only too glad to do anything for her in the old days, she was accustomed to see him cast down by a cross word and in ecstasy at a kind one; he was different now, and she said to herself that he had not improved in the last year. It never struck her for a moment that there could be any change in his feelings, and she thought it was only acting when he paid no heed to her bad temper. He wanted to read sometimes and told her to stop talking: she did not know whether to flare up or to sulk, and was so puzzled that she did neither. Then came the conversation in which he told her that he intended their relations to be platonic, and, remembering an incident of their common past, it occurred to her that he dreaded the possibility of her being pregnant. She took pains to reassure him. It made no difference. She was the sort of woman who was unable to realise that a man might not have her own obsession with sex; her relations with men had been purely on those lines; and she could not understand that they ever had other interests. The thought struck her that Philip was in love with somebody else, and she watched him, suspecting nurses at the hospital or people he met out; but artful questions led her to the conclusion that there was no one dangerous in the Athelny household; and it forced itself upon her also that Philip, like most medical students, was unconscious of the sex of the nurses with whom his work threw him in contact. They were associated in his mind with a faint odour of iodoform. Philip received no letters, and there was no girl’s photograph among his belongings. If he was in love with someone, he was very clever at hiding it; and he answered all Mildred’s questions with frankness and apparently without suspicion that there was any motive in them.
‘I don’t believe he’s in love with anybody else,’ she said to herself at last.
It was a relief, for in that case he was certainly still in love with her; but it made his behaviour very puzzling. If he was going to treat her like that why did he ask her to come and live at the flat? It was unnatural. Mildred was not a woman who conceived the possibility of compassion, generosity, or kindness. Her only conclusion was that Philip was queer. She took it into her head that the reasons for his conduct were chivalrous; and, her imagination filled with the extravagances of cheap fiction, she pictured to herself all sorts of romantic explanations for his delicacy. Her fancy ran riot with bitter misunderstandings, purifications by fire, snow-white souls, and death in the cruel cold of a Christmas night. She made up her mind that when they went to Brighton she would put an end to all his nonsense; they would be alone there, everyone would think them husband and wife, and there would be the pier and the band. When she found that nothing would induce Philip to share the same room with her, when he spoke to her about it with a tone in his voice she had never heard before, she suddenly realised that he did not want her. She was astounded. She remembered all he had said in the past and how desperately he had loved her. She felt humiliated and angry, but she had a sort of native insolence which carried her through. He needn’t think she was in love with him, because she wasn’t. She hated him sometimes, and she longed to humble him; but she found herself singularly powerless; she did not know which way to handle him. She began to be a little nervous with him. Once or twice she cried. Once or twice she set herself to be particularly nice to him; but when she took his arm while they walked along the front at night he made some excuse in a while to release himself, as though it were unpleasant for him to be touched by her. She could not make it out. The only hold she had over him was through the baby, of whom he seemed to grow fonder and fonder: she could make him white with anger by giving the child a slap or a push; and the only time the old, tender smile came back into his eyes was when she stood with the baby in her arms. She noticed it when she was being photographed like that by a man on the beach, and afterwards she often stood in the same way for Philip to look at her.
When they got back to London Mildred began looking for the work she had asserted was so easy to find; she wanted now to be independent of Philip; and she thought of the satisfaction with which she would announce to him that she was going into rooms and would take the child with her. But her heart failed her when she came into closer contact with the possibility. She had grown unused to the long hours, she did not want to be at the beck and call of a manageress, and her dignity revolted at the thought of wearing once more a uniform. She had made out to such of the neighbours as she knew that they were comfortably off: it would be a come-down if they heard that she had to go out and work. Her natural indolence asserted itself. She did not want to leave Philip, and so long as he was willing to provide for her, she did not see why she should. There was no money to throw away, but she got her board and lodging, and he might get better off. His uncle was an old man and might die any day, he would come into a little then, and even as things were, it was better than slaving from morning till night for a few shillings a week. Her efforts relaxed; she kept on reading the advertisement columns of the daily paper merely to show that she wanted to do something if anything that was worth her while presented itself. But panic seized her, and she was afraid that Philip would grow tired of supporting her. She had no hold over him at all now, and she fancied that he only allowed her to stay there because he was fond of the baby. She brooded over it all, and she thought to herself angrily that she would make him pay for all this some day. She could not reconcile herself to the fact that he no longer cared for her. She would make him. She suffered from pique, and sometimes in a curious fashion she desired Philip. He was so cold now that it exasperated her. She thought of him in that way incessantly. She thought that he was treating her very badly, and she did not know what she had done to deserve it. She kept on saying to herself that it was unnatural they should live like that. Then she thought that if things were different and she were going to have a baby, he would be sure to marry her. He was funny, but he was a gentleman in every sense of the word, no one could deny that. At last it became an obsession with her, and she made up her mind to force a change in their relations. He never even kissed her now, and she wanted him to: she remembered how ardently he had been used to press her lips. It gave her a curious feeling to think of it. She often looked at his mouth.
One evening, at the beginning of February, Philip told her that he was dining with Lawson, who was giving a party in his studio to celebrate his birthday; and he would not be in till late; Lawson had bought a couple of bottles of the punch they favoured from the tavern in Beak Street, and they proposed to have a merry evening. Mildred asked if there were going to be women there, but Philip told her there were not; only men had been invited; and they were just going to sit and talk and smoke: Mildred did not think it sounded very amusing; if she were a painter she would have half a dozen models about. She went to bed, but could not sleep, and presently an idea struck her; she got up and fixed the catch on the wicket at the landing, so that Philip could not get in. He came back about one, and she heard him curse when he found that the wicket was closed. She got out of bed and opened.
‘Why on earth did you shut yourself in? I’m sorry I’ve dragged you out of bed.’
‘I left it open on purpose, I can’t think how it came to be shut.’
‘Hurry up and get back to bed, or you’ll catch cold.’
He walked into the sitting-room and turned up the gas. She followed him in. She went up to the fire.
‘I want to warm my feet a bit. They’re like ice.’
He sat down and began to take off his boots. His eyes were shining and his cheeks were flushed. She thought he had been drinking.
‘Have you been enjoying yourself?’ she asked, with a smile.
‘Yes, I’ve had a ripping time.’
Philip was quite sober, but he had been talking and laughing, and he was excited still. An evening of that sort reminded him of the old days in Paris. He was in high spirits. He took his pipe out of his pocket and filled it.
‘Aren’t you going to bed?’ she asked.
‘Not yet, I’m not a bit sleepy. Lawson was in great form. He talked sixteen to the dozen from the moment I got there till the moment I left.’
‘What did you talk about?’
‘Heaven knows! Of every subject under the sun. You should have seen us all shouting at the tops of our voices and nobody listening.’
Philip laughed with pleasure at the recollection, and Mildred laughed too. She was pretty sure he had drunk more than was good for him. That was exactly what she had expected. She knew men.
‘Can I sit down?’ she said.
Before he could answer she settled herself on his knees.
‘If you’re not going to bed you’d better go and put on a dressing-gown.’
‘Oh, I’m all right as I am.’ Then putting her arms round his neck, she placed her face against his and said: ‘Why are you so horrid to me, Phil?’
He tried to get up, but she would not let him.
‘I do love you, Philip,’ she said.
‘Don’t talk damned rot.’
‘It isn’t, it’s true. I can’t live without you. I want you.’
He released himself from her arms.
‘Please get up. You’re making a fool of yourself and you’re making me feel a perfect idiot.’
‘I love you, Philip. I want to make up for all the harm I did you. I can’t go on like this, it’s not in human nature.’
He slipped out of the chair and left her in it.
‘I’m very sorry, but it’s too late.’
She gave a heart-rending sob.
‘But why? How can you be so cruel?’
‘I suppose it’s because I loved you too much. I wore the passion out. The thought of anything of that sort horrifies me. I can’t look at you now without thinking of Emil and Griffiths. One can’t help those things, I suppose it’s just nerves.’
She seized his hand and covered it with kisses.
‘Don’t,’ he cried.
She sank back into the chair.
‘I can’t go on like this. If you won’t love me, I’d rather go away.’
‘Don’t be foolish, you haven’t anywhere to go. You can stay here as long as you like, but it must be on the definite understanding that we’re friends and nothing more.’
Then she dropped suddenly the vehemence of passion and gave a soft, insinuating laugh. She sidled up to Philip and put her arms round him. She made her voice low and wheedling.
‘Don’t be such an old silly. I believe you’re nervous. You don’t know how nice I can be.’
She put her face against his and rubbed his cheek with hers. To Philip her smile was an abominable leer, and the suggestive glitter of her eyes filled him with horror. He drew back instinctively.
‘I won’t,’ he said.
But she would not let him go. She sought his mouth with her lips. He took her hands and tore them roughly apart and pushed her away.
‘You disgust me,’ he said.
‘Me?’
She steadied herself with one hand on the chimney-piece. She looked at him for an instant, and two red spots suddenly appeared on her cheeks. She gave a shrill, angry laugh.
‘I disgust YOU.’
She paused and drew in her breath sharply. Then she burst into a furious torrent of abuse. She shouted at the top of her voice. She called him every foul name she could think of. She used language so obscene that Philip was astounded; she was always so anxious to be refined, so shocked by coarseness, that it had never occurred to him that she knew the words she used now. She came up to him and thrust her face in his. It was distorted with passion, and in her tumultuous speech the spittle dribbled over her lips.
‘I never cared for you, not once, I was making a fool of you always, you bored me, you bored me stiff, and I hated you, I would never have let you touch me only for the money, and it used to make me sick when I had to let you kiss me. We laughed at you, Griffiths and me, we laughed because you was such a mug. A mug! A mug!’
Then she burst again into abominable invective. She accused him of every mean fault; she said he was stingy, she said he was dull, she said he was vain, selfish; she cast virulent ridicule on everything upon which he was most sensitive. And at last she turned to go. She kept on, with hysterical violence, shouting at him an opprobrious, filthy epithet. She seized the handle of the door and flung it open. Then she turned round and hurled at him the injury which she knew was the only one that really touched him. She threw into the word all the malice and all the venom of which she was capable. She flung it at him as though it were a blow.
‘Cripple!’