suche wohnzimmer gardinen

-chapter xcv when they returned to london philip beganhis dressing in the surgical wards. he was not so much interested in surgery asin medicine, which, a more empirical science, offered greater scope to theimagination. the work was a little harder than thecorresponding work on the medical side. there was a lecture from nine till ten,when he went into the wards; there wounds had to be dressed, stitches taken out,bandages renewed: philip prided himself a little on his skill in bandaging, and it amused him to wring a word of approval froma nurse.

on certain afternoons in the week therewere operations; and he stood in the well of the theatre, in a white jacket, ready tohand the operating surgeon any instrument he wanted or to sponge the blood away sothat he could see what he was about. when some rare operation was to beperformed the theatre would fill up, but generally there were not more than half adozen students present, and then the proceedings had a cosiness which philipenjoyed. at that time the world at large seemed tohave a passion for appendicitis, and a good many cases came to the operating theatrefor this complaint: the surgeon for whom philip dressed was in friendly rivalry with

a colleague as to which could remove anappendix in the shortest time and with the smallest incision.in due course philip was put on accident duty. the dressers took this in turn; it lastedthree days, during which they lived in hospital and ate their meals in the common-room; they had a room on the ground floor near the casualty ward, with a bed thatshut up during the day into a cupboard. the dresser on duty had to be at hand dayand night to see to any casualty that came in. you were on the move all the time, and notmore than an hour or two passed during the

night without the clanging of the bell justabove your head which made you leap out of bed instinctively. saturday night was of course the busiesttime and the closing of the public-houses the busiest hour. men would be brought in by the police deaddrunk and it would be necessary to administer a stomach-pump; women, ratherthe worse for liquor themselves, would come in with a wound on the head or a bleeding nose which their husbands had given them:some would vow to have the law on him, and others, ashamed, would declare that it hadbeen an accident.

what the dresser could manage himself hedid, but if there was anything important he sent for the house-surgeon: he did thiswith care, since the house-surgeon was not vastly pleased to be dragged down fiveflights of stairs for nothing. the cases ranged from a cut finger to a cutthroat. boys came in with hands mangled by somemachine, men were brought who had been knocked down by a cab, and children who hadbroken a limb while playing: now and then attempted suicides were carried in by the police: philip saw a ghastly, wild-eyed manwith a great gash from ear to ear, and he was in the ward for weeks afterwards incharge of a constable, silent, angry

because he was alive, and sullen; he made no secret of the fact that he would tryagain to kill himself as soon as he was released. the wards were crowded, and the house-surgeon was faced with a dilemma when patients were brought in by the police: ifthey were sent on to the station and died there disagreeable things were said in the papers; and it was very difficult sometimesto tell if a man was dying or drunk. philip did not go to bed till he was tiredout, so that he should not have the bother of getting up again in an hour; and he satin the casualty ward talking in the

intervals of work with the night-nurse. she was a gray-haired woman of masculineappearance, who had been night-nurse in the casualty department for twenty years.she liked the work because she was her own mistress and had no sister to bother her. her movements were slow, but she wasimmensely capable and she never failed in an emergency.the dressers, often inexperienced or nervous, found her a tower of strength. she had seen thousands of them, and theymade no impression upon her: she always called them mr. brown; and when theyexpostulated and told her their real names,

she merely nodded and went on calling themmr. brown. it interested philip to sit with her in thebare room, with its two horse-hair couches and the flaring gas, and listen to her. she had long ceased to look upon the peoplewho came in as human beings; they were drunks, or broken arms, or cut throats. she took the vice and misery and cruelty ofthe world as a matter of course; she found nothing to praise or blame in humanactions: she accepted. she had a certain grim humour. "i remember one suicide," she said tophilip, "who threw himself into the thames.

they fished him out and brought him here,and ten days later he developed typhoid fever from swallowing thames water." "did he die?""yes, he did all right. i could never make up my mind if it wassuicide or not.... they're a funny lot, suicides. i remember one man who couldn't get anywork to do and his wife died, so he pawned his clothes and bought a revolver; but hemade a mess of it, he only shot out an eye and he got all right. and then, if you please, with an eye goneand a piece of his face blow away, he came

to the conclusion that the world wasn'tsuch a bad place after all, and he lived happily ever afterwards. thing i've always noticed, people don'tcommit suicide for love, as you'd expect, that's just a fancy of novelists; theycommit suicide because they haven't got any money. i wonder why that is.""i suppose money's more important than love," suggested philip.money was in any case occupying philip's thoughts a good deal just then. he discovered the little truth there was inthe airy saying which himself had repeated,

that two could live as cheaply as one, andhis expenses were beginning to worry him. mildred was not a good manager, and it costthem as much to live as if they had eaten in restaurants; the child needed clothes,and mildred boots, an umbrella, and other small things which it was impossible forher to do without. when they returned from brighton she hadannounced her intention of getting a job, but she took no definite steps, andpresently a bad cold laid her up for a fortnight. when she was well she answered one or twoadvertisements, but nothing came of it: either she arrived too late and the vacantplace was filled, or the work was more than

she felt strong enough to do. once she got an offer, but the wages wereonly fourteen shillings a week, and she thought she was worth more than that."it's no good letting oneself be put upon," she remarked. "people don't respect you if you letyourself go too cheap." "i don't think fourteen shillings is sobad," answered philip, drily. he could not help thinking how useful itwould be towards the expenses of the household, and mildred was alreadybeginning to hint that she did not get a place because she had not got a decentdress to interview employers in.

he gave her the dress, and she made one ortwo more attempts, but philip came to the conclusion that they were not serious. she did not want to work. the only way he knew to make money was onthe stock exchange, and he was very anxious to repeat the lucky experiment of thesummer; but war had broken out with the transvaal and nothing was doing in southafricans. macalister told him that redvers bullerwould march into pretoria in a month and then everything would boom. the only thing was to wait patiently.what they wanted was a british reverse to

knock things down a bit, and then it mightbe worth while buying. philip began reading assiduously the 'citychat' of his favourite newspaper. he was worried and irritable. once or twice he spoke sharply to mildred,and since she was neither tactful nor patient she answered with temper, and theyquarrelled. philip always expressed his regret for whathe had said, but mildred had not a forgiving nature, and she would sulk for acouple of days. she got on his nerves in all sorts of ways;by the manner in which she ate, and by the untidiness which made her leave articles ofclothing about their sitting-room: philip

was excited by the war and devoured the papers, morning and evening; but she tookno interest in anything that happened. she had made the acquaintance of two orthree people who lived in the street, and one of them had asked if she would like thecurate to call on her. she wore a wedding-ring and called herselfmrs. carey. on philip's walls were two or three of thedrawings which he had made in paris, nudes, two of women and one of miguel ajuria,standing very square on his feet, with clenched fists. philip kept them because they were the bestthings he had done, and they reminded him

of happy days.mildred had long looked at them with disfavour. "i wish you'd take those drawings down,philip," she said to him at last. "mrs. foreman, of number thirteen, came inyesterday afternoon, and i didn't know which way to look. i saw her staring at them.""what's the matter with them?" "they're indecent.disgusting, that's what i call it, to have drawings of naked people about. and it isn't nice for baby either.she's beginning to notice things now."

"how can you be so vulgar?""vulgar? modest, i call it. i've never said anything, but d'you think ilike having to look at those naked people all day long.""have you no sense of humour at all, mildred?" he asked frigidly. "i don't know what sense of humour's got todo with it. i've got a good mind to take them downmyself. if you want to know what i think aboutthem, i think they're disgusting." "i don't want to know what you think aboutthem, and i forbid you to touch them."

when mildred was cross with him shepunished him through the baby. the little girl was as fond of philip as hewas of her, and it was her great pleasure every morning to crawl into his room (shewas getting on for two now and could walk pretty well), and be taken up into his bed. when mildred stopped this the poor childwould cry bitterly. to philip's remonstrances she replied:"i don't want her to get into habits." and if then he said anything more she said: "it's nothing to do with you what i do withmy child. to hear you talk one would think you washer father.

i'm her mother, and i ought to know what'sgood for her, oughtn't i?" philip was exasperated by mildred'sstupidity; but he was so indifferent to her now that it was only at times she made himangry. he grew used to having her about. christmas came, and with it a couple ofdays holiday for philip. he brought some holly in and decorated theflat, and on christmas day he gave small presents to mildred and the baby. there were only two of them so they couldnot have a turkey, but mildred roasted a chicken and boiled a christmas puddingwhich she had bought at a local grocer's.

they stood themselves a bottle of wine. when they had dined philip sat in his arm-chair by the fire, smoking his pipe; and the unaccustomed wine had made him forgetfor a while the anxiety about money which was so constantly with him. he felt happy and comfortable.presently mildred came in to tell him that the baby wanted him to kiss her good-night,and with a smile he went into mildred's bed-room. then, telling the child to go to sleep, heturned down the gas and, leaving the door open in case she cried, went back into thesitting-room.

"where are you going to sit?" he askedmildred. "you sit in your chair.i'm going to sit on the floor." when he sat down she settled herself infront of the fire and leaned against his knees. he could not help remembering that this washow they had sat together in her rooms in the vauxhall bridge road, but the positionshad been reversed; it was he who had sat on the floor and leaned his head against herknee. how passionately he had loved her then!now he felt for her a tenderness he had not known for a long time.

he seemed still to feel twined round hisneck the baby's soft little arms. "are you comfy?" he asked.she looked up at him, gave a slight smile, and nodded. they gazed into the fire dreamily, withoutspeaking to one another. at last she turned round and stared at himcuriously. "d'you know that you haven't kissed me oncesince i came here?" she said suddenly. "d'you want me to?" he smiled."i suppose you don't care for me in that way any more?" "i'm very fond of you.""you're much fonder of baby."

he did not answer, and she laid her cheekagainst his hand. "you're not angry with me any more?" sheasked presently, with her eyes cast down. "why on earth should i be?""i've never cared for you as i do now. it's only since i passed through the firethat i've learnt to love you." it chilled philip to hear her make use ofthe sort of phrase she read in the penny novelettes which she devoured. then he wondered whether what she said hadany meaning for her: perhaps she knew no other way to express her genuine feelingsthan the stilted language of the family herald.

"it seems so funny our living together likethis." he did not reply for quite a long time, andsilence fell upon them again; but at last he spoke and seemed conscious of nointerval. "you mustn't be angry with me. one can't help these things.i remember that i thought you wicked and cruel because you did this, that, and theother; but it was very silly of me. you didn't love me, and it was absurd toblame you for that. i thought i could make you love me, but iknow now that was impossible. i don't know what it is that makes someonelove you, but whatever it is, it's the only

thing that matters, and if it isn't thereyou won't create it by kindness, or generosity, or anything of that sort." "i should have thought if you'd loved mereally you'd have loved me still." "i should have thought so too. i remember how i used to think that itwould last for ever, i felt i would rather die than be without you, and i used to longfor the time when you would be faded and wrinkled so that nobody cared for you anymore and i should have you all to myself." she did not answer, and presently she gotup and said she was going to bed. she gave a timid little smile.

"it's christmas day, philip, won't you kissme good-night?" he gave a laugh, blushed slightly, andkissed her. she went to her bed-room and he began toread. chapter xcvi 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 hersoul, 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 intowords, she did not even know what they were, but certain things stood out in hermind, and she thought of them over and over again. she had never understood philip, nor hadvery much liked him; but she was pleased to have him about her because she thought hewas a gentleman. she was impressed because his father hadbeen a doctor and his uncle was a clergyman. she despised him a little because she hadmade such a fool of him, and at the same time was never quite comfortable in hispresence; she could not let herself go, and

she felt that he was criticising hermanners. when she first came to live in the littlerooms 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 allweathers, 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 andsubservient; and even now when it crossed her mind she cried with pity for herself asshe thought of the roughness of men and

their brutal language. but it crossed her mind very seldom. she was grateful to philip for coming toher rescue, and when she remembered how honestly he had loved her and how badly shehad 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 hersuggestion, but she shrugged her shoulders: let him put on airs if he liked, she didnot care, he would be anxious enough in a little while, and then it would be her turn

to refuse; if he thought it was anydeprivation to her he was very much mistaken.she had no doubt of her power over him. he was peculiar, but she knew him throughand through. he had so often quarrelled with her andsworn he would never see her again, and then in a little while he had come on hisknees begging to be forgiven. it gave her a thrill to think how he hadcringed before her. he would have been glad to lie down on theground for her to walk on him. she had seen him cry. she knew exactly how to treat him, pay noattention to him, just pretend you didn't

notice his tempers, leave him severelyalone, 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 tohave anything more to do with them. she was quite ready to settle down withphilip. when all was said, he was a gentleman inevery 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 growingof the baby, though it tickled her a good deal; it was comic that he should set somuch 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: hewas only too glad to do anything for her in the old days, she was accustomed to see himcast 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 inthe last year. it never struck her for a moment that therecould be any change in his feelings, and

she thought it was only acting when he paidno heed to her bad temper. he wanted to read sometimes and told her tostop talking: she did not know whether to flare up or to sulk, and was so puzzledthat she did neither. then came the conversation in which he toldher that he intended their relations to be platonic, and, remembering an incident oftheir common past, it occurred to her that he dreaded the possibility of her beingpregnant. she took pains to reassure him.it made no difference. she was the sort of woman who was unable torealise that a man might not have her own obsession with sex; her relations with menhad been purely on those lines; and she

could not understand that they ever hadother interests. the thought struck her that philip was inlove with somebody else, and she watched him, suspecting nurses at the hospital orpeople he met out; but artful questions led her to the conclusion that there was no one dangerous in the athelny household; and itforced itself upon her also that philip, like most medical students, was unconsciousof the sex of the nurses with whom his work threw him in contact. they were associated in his mind with afaint odour of iodoform. philip received no letters, and there wasno girl's photograph among his belongings.

if he was in love with someone, he was veryclever at hiding it; and he answered all mildred's questions with frankness andapparently without suspicion that there was any motive in them. "i don't believe he's in love with anybodyelse," she said to herself at last. it was a relief, for in that case he wascertainly still in love with her; but it made his behaviour very puzzling. if he was going to treat her like that whydid he ask her to come and live at the flat?it was unnatural. mildred was not a woman who conceived thepossibility of compassion, generosity, or

kindness.her only conclusion was that philip was queer. she took it into her head that the reasonsfor his conduct were chivalrous; and, her imagination filled with the extravagancesof cheap fiction, she pictured to herself all sorts of romantic explanations for hisdelicacy. her fancy ran riot with bittermisunderstandings, purifications by fire, snow-white souls, and death in the cruelcold of a christmas night. she made up her mind that when they went tobrighton 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 inducephilip to share the same room with her, when he spoke to her about it with a tonein his voice she had never heard before, she suddenly realised that he did not wanther. 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 hada 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 tohumble him; but she found herself singularly powerless; she did not knowwhich 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 beparticularly nice to him; but when she took his arm while they walked along the frontat night he made some excuse in a while to release himself, as though it wereunpleasant for him to be touched by her. she could not make it out. the only hold she had over him was throughthe baby, of whom he seemed to grow fonder

and fonder: she could make him white withanger 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 stoodwith the baby in her arms. she noticed it when she was beingphotographed like that by a man on the beach, and afterwards she often stood inthe same way for philip to look at her. when they got back to london mildred beganlooking for the work she had asserted was so easy to find; she wanted now to beindependent of philip; and she thought of the satisfaction with which she would announce to him that she was going intorooms and would take the child with her.

but her heart failed her when she came intocloser contact with the possibility. she had grown unused to the long hours, shedid not want to be at the beck and call of a manageress, and her dignity revolted atthe thought of wearing once more a uniform. she had made out to such of the neighboursas she knew that they were comfortably off: it would be a come-down if they heard thatshe had to go out and work. her natural indolence asserted itself. she did not want to leave philip, and solong as he was willing to provide for her, she did not see why she should. there was no money to throw away, but shegot her board and lodging, and he might get

better off. his uncle was an old man and might die anyday, he would come into a little then, and even as things were, it was better thanslaving from morning till night for a few shillings a week. her efforts relaxed; she kept on readingthe advertisement columns of the daily paper merely to show that she wanted to dosomething if anything that was worth her while presented itself. but panic seized her, and she was afraidthat philip would grow tired of supporting her.

she had no hold over him at all now, andshe fancied that he only allowed her to stay there because he was fond of the baby. she brooded over it all, and she thought toherself 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 verybadly, 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 weredifferent and she were going to have a baby, he would be sure to marry her. he was funny, but he was a gentleman inevery 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 shewanted 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 hisstudio to celebrate his birthday; and he would not be in till late; lawson had bought a couple of bottles of the punchthey favoured from the tavern in beak street, and they proposed to have a merryevening. mildred asked if there were going to bewomen there, but philip told her there were

not; only men had been invited; and theywere just going to sit and talk and smoke: mildred did not think it sounded very amusing; if she were a painter she wouldhave half a dozen models about. she went to bed, but could not sleep, andpresently an idea struck her; she got up and fixed the catch on the wicket at thelanding, so that philip could not get in. he came back about one, and she heard himcurse 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 turnedup 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 beentalking 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 thanwas 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 herselfon his knees. "if you're not going to bed you'd better goand put on a dressing-gown."

"oh, i'm all right as i am." then putting her arms round his neck, sheplaced 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'remaking me feel a perfect idiot."

"i love you, philip. i want to make up for all the harm i didyou. i can't go on like this, it's not in humannature." he slipped out of the chair and left her init. "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 sorthorrifies me.

i can't look at you now without thinking ofemil and griffiths. one can't help those things, i suppose it'sjust nerves." she seized his hand and covered it withkisses. "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, butit 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 armsround 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 roughlyapart 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 philipwas astounded; she was always so anxious to be refined, so shocked by coarseness, thatit had never occurred to him that she knew the words she used now. she came up to him and thrust her face inhis. it was distorted with passion, and in hertumultuous speech the spittle dribbled over her lips. "i never cared for you, not once, i wasmaking a fool of you always, you bored me,

you bored me stiff, and i hated you, iwould never have let you touch me only for the money, and it used to make me sick wheni had to let you kiss me. we laughed at you, griffiths and me, welaughed because you was such a mug. a mug! a mug!"then she burst again into abominable invective. she accused him of every mean fault; shesaid he was stingy, she said he was dull, she said he was vain, selfish; she castvirulent 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, filthyepithet. she seized the handle of the door and flungit open. then she turned round and hurled at him theinjury which she knew was the only one that really touched him. she threw into the word all the malice andall the venom of which she was capable. she flung it at him as though it were ablow. "cripple!" chapter xcvii

philip awoke with a start next morning,conscious that it was late, and looking at his watch found it was nine o'clock. he jumped out of bed and went into thekitchen to get himself some hot water to shave with. there was no sign of mildred, and thethings which she had used for her supper the night before still lay in the sinkunwashed. he knocked at her door. "wake up, mildred.it's awfully late." she did not answer, even after a secondlouder knocking, and he concluded that she

was sulking. he was in too great a hurry to bother aboutthat. he put some water on to boil and jumpedinto his bath which was always poured out the night before in order to take the chilloff. he presumed that mildred would cook hisbreakfast while he was dressing and leave it in the sitting-room.she had done that two or three times when she was out of temper. but he heard no sound of her moving, andrealised that if he wanted anything to eat he would have to get it himself.

he was irritated that she should play himsuch a trick on a morning when he had over- slept himself. there was still no sign of her when he wasready, but he heard her moving about her room.she was evidently getting up. he made himself some tea and cut himself acouple of pieces of bread and butter, which he ate while he was putting on his boots,then bolted downstairs and along the street into the main road to catch his tram. while his eyes sought out the newspapershops to see the war news on the placards, he thought of the scene of the nightbefore: now that it was over and he had

slept on it, he could not help thinking it grotesque; he supposed he had beenridiculous, but he was not master of his feelings; at the time they had beenoverwhelming. he was angry with mildred because she hadforced him into that absurd position, and then with renewed astonishment he thoughtof her outburst and the filthy language she had used. he could not help flushing when heremembered her final jibe; but he shrugged his shoulders contemptuously. he had long known that when his fellowswere angry with him they never failed to

taunt him with his deformity. he had seen men at the hospital imitate hiswalk, not before him as they used at school, but when they thought he was notlooking. he knew now that they did it from no wilfulunkindness, but because man is naturally an imitative animal, and because it was aneasy way to make people laugh: he knew it, but he could never resign himself to it. he was glad to throw himself into his work.the ward seemed pleasant and friendly when he entered it.the sister greeted him with a quick, business-like smile.

"you're very late, mr. carey.""i was out on the loose last night." "you look it.""thank you." laughing, he went to the first of hiscases, a boy with tuberculous ulcers, and removed his bandages. the boy was pleased to see him, and philipchaffed him as he put a clean dressing on the wound. philip was a favourite with the patients;he treated them good-humouredly; and he had gentle, sensitive hands which did not hurtthem: some of the dressers were a little rough and happy-go-lucky in their methods.

he lunched with his friends in the club-room, a frugal meal consisting of a scone and butter, with a cup of cocoa, and theytalked of the war. several men were going out, but theauthorities were particular and refused everyone who had not had a hospitalappointment. someone suggested that, if the war went on,in a while they would be glad to take anyone who was qualified; but the generalopinion was that it would be over in a month. now that roberts was there things would getall right in no time. this was macalister's opinion too, and hehad told philip that they must watch their

chance and buy just before peace wasdeclared. there would be a boom then, and they mightall make a bit of money. philip had left with macalisterinstructions to buy him stock whenever the opportunity presented itself. his appetite had been whetted by the thirtypounds he had made in the summer, and he wanted now to make a couple of hundred.he finished his day's work and got on a tram to go back to kennington. he wondered how mildred would behave thatevening. it was a nuisance to think that she wouldprobably be surly and refuse to answer his

questions. it was a warm evening for the time of year,and even in those gray streets of south london there was the languor of february;nature is restless then after the long winter months, growing things awake from their sleep, and there is a rustle in theearth, a forerunner of spring, as it resumes its eternal activities. philip would have liked to drive onfurther, it was distasteful to him to go back to his rooms, and he wanted the air;but the desire to see the child clutched suddenly at his heartstrings, and he smiled

to himself as he thought of her toddlingtowards him with a crow of delight. he was surprised, when he reached the houseand looked up mechanically at the windows, to see that there was no light. he went upstairs and knocked, but got noanswer. when mildred went out she left the keyunder the mat and he found it there now. he let himself in and going into thesitting-room struck a match. something had happened, he did not at onceknow what; he turned the gas on full and lit it; the room was suddenly filled withthe glare and he looked round. he gasped.

the whole place was wrecked.everything in it had been wilfully destroyed.anger seized him, and he rushed into mildred's room. it was dark and empty. when he had got a light he saw that she hadtaken away all her things and the baby's (he had noticed on entering that the go-cart was not in its usual place on the landing, but thought mildred had taken the baby out;) and all the things on thewashing-stand had been broken, a knife had been drawn cross-ways through the seats ofthe two chairs, the pillow had been slit

open, there were large gashes in the sheets and the counterpane, the looking-glassappeared to have been broken with a hammer. philip was bewildered.he went into his own room, and here too everything was in confusion. the basin and the ewer had been smashed,the looking-glass was in fragments, and the sheets were in ribands. mildred had made a slit large enough to puther hand into the pillow and had scattered the feathers about the room.she had jabbed a knife into the blankets. on the dressing-table were photographs ofphilip's mother, the frames had been

smashed and the glass shivered.philip went into the tiny kitchen. everything that was breakable was broken,glasses, pudding-basins, plates, dishes. it took philip's breath away. mildred had left no letter, nothing butthis ruin to mark her anger, and he could imagine the set face with which she hadgone about her work. he went back into the sitting-room andlooked about him. he was so astonished that he no longer feltangry. he looked curiously at the kitchen-knifeand the coal-hammer, which were lying on the table where she had left them.then his eye caught a large carving-knife

in the fireplace which had been broken. it must have taken her a long time to do somuch damage. lawson's portrait of him had been cutcross-ways and gaped hideously. his own drawings had been ripped in pieces;and the photographs, manet's olympia and the odalisque of ingres, the portrait ofphilip iv, had been smashed with great blows of the coal-hammer. there were gashes in the table-cloth and inthe curtains and in the two arm-chairs. they were quite ruined. on one wall over the table which philipused as his desk was the little bit of

persian rug which cronshaw had given him.mildred had always hated it. "if it's a rug it ought to go on thefloor," she said, "and it's a dirty stinking bit of stuff, that's all it is."it made her furious because philip told her it contained the answer to a great riddle. she thought he was making fun of her.she had drawn the knife right through it three times, it must have required somestrength, and it hung now in tatters. philip had two or three blue and whiteplates, of no value, but he had bought them one by one for very small sums and likedthem for their associations. they littered the floor in fragments.

there were long gashes on the backs of hisbooks, and she had taken the trouble to tear pages out of the unbound french ones.the little ornaments on the chimney-piece lay on the hearth in bits. everything that it had been possible todestroy with a knife or a hammer was destroyed. the whole of philip's belongings would nothave sold for thirty pounds, but most of them were old friends, and he was adomestic creature, attached to all those odds and ends because they were his; he had been proud of his little home, and on solittle money had made it pretty and

characteristic.he sank down now in despair. he asked himself how she could have been socruel. a sudden fear got him on his feet again andinto the passage, where stood a cupboard in which he kept his clothes. he opened it and gave a sigh of relief.she had apparently forgotten it and none of his things was touched. he went back into the sitting-room and,surveying the scene, wondered what to do; he had not the heart to begin trying to setthings straight; besides there was no food in the house, and he was hungry.

he went out and got himself something toeat. when he came in he was cooler. a little pang seized him as he thought ofthe child, and he wondered whether she would miss him, at first perhaps, but in aweek she would have forgotten him; and he was thankful to be rid of mildred. he did not think of her with wrath, butwith an overwhelming sense of boredom. "i hope to god i never see her again," hesaid aloud. the only thing now was to leave the rooms,and he made up his mind to give notice the next morning.

he could not afford to make good the damagedone, and he had so little money left that he must find cheaper lodgings still.he would be glad to get out of them. the expense had worried him, and now therecollection of mildred would be in them always. philip was impatient and could never resttill he had put in action the plan which he had in mind; so on the following afternoonhe got in a dealer in second-hand furniture who offered him three pounds for all his goods damaged and undamaged; and two dayslater he moved into the house opposite the hospital in which he had had rooms whenfirst he became a medical student.

the landlady was a very decent woman. he took a bed-room at the top, which shelet him have for six shillings a week; it was small and shabby and looked on the yardof the house that backed on to it, but he had nothing now except his clothes and a box of books, and he was glad to lodge socheaply.

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