It was clear that he wanted to avoid him. Suddenly there was a
light tap at his door. Philip sprang to his feet and opened it. Mildred
stood on the threshold. She did not move.
"Come in," said Philip.
He closed the door after her. She sat down. She hesitated to begin.
"Thank you for giving me that two shillings last night," she said.
"Oh, that's all right."
She gave him a faint smile. It reminded Philip of the timid, ingratiating
look of a puppy that has been beaten for naughtiness and wants to
reconcile himself with his master.
"I've been lunching with Harry," she said.
"Have you?"
"If you still want me to go away with you on Saturday, Philip, I'll come."
A quick thrill of triumph shot through his heart, but it was a sensation
that only lasted an instant; it was followed by a suspicion.
"Because of the money?" he asked.
"Partly," she answered simply. "Harry can't do anything. He owes five
weeks here, and he owes you seven pounds, and his tailor's pressing him
for money. He'd pawn anything he could, but he's pawned everything
already. I had a job to put the woman off about my new dress, and on
Saturday there's the book at my lodgings, and I can't get work in five
minutes. It always means waiting some little time till there's a vacancy."
She said all this in an even, querulous tone, as though she were
recounting the injustices of fate, which had to be borne as part of the
natural order of things.
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