It cost twenty pounds,
which was much more than he could afford, but it was showy and vulgar: he
knew she would be aware exactly how much it cost; he got a melancholy
satisfaction in choosing a gift which would give her pleasure and at the
same time indicate for himself the contempt he had for her.
Philip had looked forward with apprehension to the day on which Mildred
was to be married; he was expecting an intolerable anguish; and it was
with relief that he got a letter from Hayward on Saturday morning to say
that he was coming up early on that very day and would fetch Philip to
help him to find rooms. Philip, anxious to be distracted, looked up a
time-table and discovered the only train Hayward was likely to come by; he
went to meet him, and the reunion of the friends was enthusiastic. They
left the luggage at the station, and set off gaily. Hayward
characteristically proposed that first of all they should go for an hour
to the National Gallery; he had not seen pictures for some time, and he
stated that it needed a glimpse to set him in tune with life. Philip for
months had had no one with whom he could talk of art and books. Since the
Paris days Hayward had immersed himself in the modern French versifiers,
and, such a plethora of poets is there in France, he had several new
geniuses to tell Philip about. They walked through the gallery pointing
out to one another their favourite pictures; one subject led to another;
they talked excitedly.
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