Chapter109

theautumnpassedintowinter.philiphadlefthisaddresswithmrs.foster,hisuncle’shousekeeper,sothatshemightcommunicatewithhim,butstillwentonceaweektothehospitalonthechanceoftherebeingaletter.oneeveninghesawhisnameonanenvelopeinahandwritinghehadhopednevertoseeagain.itgavehimaqueerfeeling.foralittlewhilehecouldnotbringhimselftotakeit.itbroughtbackahostofhatefulmemories.butatlength,impatientwithhimself,herippedopentheenvelope.

7williamstreet,fitzroysquare.

dearphil,caniseeyouforaminuteortwoassoonaspossible.iaminawfultroubleanddon’tknowwhattodo.it’snotmoney.

yourstruly,mildred.

hetoretheletterintolittlebitsandgoingoutintothestreetscatteredtheminthedarkness.

“i’llseeherdamned,”hemuttered.

afeelingofdisgustsurgedupinhimatthethoughtofseeingheragain.hedidnotcareifshewasindistress,itservedherrightwhateveritwas,hethoughtofherwithhatred,andthelovehehadhadforherarousedhisloathing.hisrecollectionsfilledhimwithnausea,andashewalkedacrossthethameshedrewhimselfasideinaninstinctivewithdrawalfromhisthoughtofher.hewenttobed,buthecouldnotsleep;hewonderedwhatwasthematterwithher,andhecouldnotgetoutofhisheadthefearthatshewasillandhungry;shewouldnothavewrittentohimunlesssheweredesperate.hewasangrywithhimselfforhisweakness,butheknewthathewouldhavenopeaceunlesshesawher.nextmorninghewrotealetter-cardandposteditonhiswaytotheshop.hemadeitasstiffashecouldandsaidmerelythathewassorryshewasindifficultiesandwouldcometotheaddressshehadgivenatseveno’clockthatevening.

itwasthatofashabbylodging-houseinasordidstreet;andwhen,sickatthethoughtofseeingher,heaskedwhethershewasin,awildhopeseizedhimthatshehadleft.itlookedthesortofplacepeoplemovedinandoutoffrequently.hehadnotthoughtoflookingatthepostmarkonherletteranddidnotknowhowmanydaysithadlainintherack.thewomanwhoansweredthebelldidnotreplytohisinquiry,butsilentlyprecededhimalongthepassageandknockedonadoorattheback.

“mrs.miller,agentlemantoseeyou,”shecalled.

thedoorwasslightlyopened,andmildredlookedoutsuspiciously.

“oh,it’syou,”shesaid.“comein.”  hewalkedinandsheclosedthedoor.itwasaverysmallbed-room,untidyaswaseveryplaceshelivedin;therewasapairofshoesonthefloor,lyingapartfromoneanotheranduncleaned;ahatwasonthechestofdrawers,withfalsecurlsbesideit;andtherewasablouseonthetable.philiplookedforsomewheretoputhishat.thehooksbehindthedoor

wereladenwithskirts,andhenoticedthattheyweremuddyatthehem.

“sitdown,won’tyou?”shesaid.thenshegavealittleawkwardlaugh.“isupposeyouweresurprisedtohearfrommeagain.”

“you’reawfullyhoarse,”heanswered.“haveyougotasorethroat?”

“yes,ihavehadforsometime.”

hedidnotsayanything.hewaitedforhertoexplainwhyshewantedtoseehim.thelookoftheroomtoldhimclearlyenoughthatshehadgonebacktothelifefromwhichhehadtakenher.hewonderedwhathadhappenedtothebaby;therewasaphotographofitonthechimney-piece,butnosignintheroomthatachildwaseverthere.mildredwasholdingherhandkerchief.shemadeitintoalittleball,andpasseditfromhandtohand.hesawthatshewasverynervous.shewasstaringatthefire,andhecouldlookatherwithoutmeetinghereyes.shewasmuchthinnerthanwhenshehadlefthim;andtheskin,yellowanddryish,wasdrawnmoretightlyoverhercheekbones.shehaddyedherhairanditwasnowflaxen:italteredheragooddeal,andmadeherlookmorevulgar.

“iwasrelievedtogetyourletter,icantellyou,”shesaidatlast.“ithoughtp’rapsyouweren’tatthe‘ospitalanymore.”

philipdidnotspeak.

“isupposeyou’requalifiedbynow,aren’tyou?”

“no.”

“how’sthat?”

“i’mnolongeratthehospital.ihadtogiveitupeighteenmonthsago.”

“youarechangeable.youdon’tseemasifyoucouldsticktoanything.”

philipwassilentforanothermoment,andwhenhewentonitwaswithcoldness.

“ilostthelittlemoneyihadinanunluckyspeculationandicouldn’taffordtogoonwiththe

medical.ihadtoearnmylivingasbesticould.”

“whatareyoudoingthen?”

“i’minashop.”

“oh!”

shegavehimaquickglanceandturnedhereyesawayatonce.hethoughtthatshereddened.shedabbedherpalmsnervouslywiththehandkerchief.

“you’venotforgottenallyourdoctoring,haveyou?”shejerkedthewordsoutquiteoddly.

“notentirely.”

“becausethat’swhyiwantedtoseeyou.”hervoicesanktoahoarsewhisper.“idon’tknowwhat’sthematterwithme.”

“whydon’tyougotoahospital?”

“idon’tliketodothat,andhaveallthestoodentsstaringatme,andi’mafraidthey’dwanttokeepme.”

“whatareyoucomplainingof?”askedphilipcoldly,withthestereotypedphraseusedintheout-patients’room.

“well,i’vecomeoutinarash,andican’tgetridofit.”

philipfeltatwingeofhorrorinhisheart.sweatbrokeoutonhisforehead.

“letmelookatyourthroat?”

hetookherovertothewindowandmadesuchexaminationashecould.suddenlyhecaughtsightofhereyes.therewasdeadlyfearinthem.itwashorribletosee.shewasterrified.shewantedhimtoreassureher;shelookedathimpleadingly,notdaringtoaskforwordsofcomfortbutwithallhernervesastrungtoreceivethem:hehadnonetoofferher.

“i’mafraidyou’reveryillindeed,”hesaid.

“whatd’youthinkitis?”

whenhetoldhershegrewdeathlypale,andherlipseventurned,yellow.shebegantocry,hopelessly,quietlyatfirstandthenwithchokingsobs.

“i’mawfullysorry,”hesaidatlast.“butihadtotellyou.”

“imayjustaswellkillmyselfandhavedonewithit.”

hetooknonoticeofthethreat.

“haveyougotanymoney?”heasked.

“sixorsevenpounds.”

“youmustgiveupthislife,youknow.don’tyouthinkyoucouldfindsomeworktodo?i’mafraidican’thelpyoumuch.ionlygettwelvebobaweek.”

“whatisthereicandonow?”shecriedimpatiently.