Of Human Bondage W. Somerset Maugham (epub e reader txt) 📖

I shouldn’t be here, should I? You’re a gentleman in every sense of the word, I will say that for you.”

They had finished their dinner and were drinking coffee. Philip, throwing economy to the winds, smoked a threepenny cigar.

“You can’t imagine what a pleasure it is to me just to sit opposite and look at you. I’ve yearned for you. I was sick for a sight of you.”

Mildred smiled a little and faintly flushed. She was not then suffering from the dyspepsia which generally attacked her immediately after a meal. She felt more kindly disposed to Philip than ever before, and the unaccustomed tenderness in her eyes filled him with joy. He knew instinctively that it was madness to give himself into her hands; his only chance was to treat her casually and never allow her to see the untamed passions that seethed in his breast; she would only take advantage of his weakness; but he could not be prudent now: he told her all the agony he had endured during the separation from her; he told her of his struggles with himself, how he had tried to get over his passion, thought he had succeeded, and how he found out that it was as strong as ever. He knew that he had never really wanted to get over it. He loved her so much that he did not mind suffering. He bared his heart to her. He showed her proudly all his weakness.

Nothing would have pleased him more than to sit on in the cosy, shabby restaurant, but he knew that Mildred wanted entertainment. She was restless and, wherever she was, wanted after a while to go somewhere else. He dared not bore her.

“I say, how about going to a music-hall?” he said.

He thought rapidly that if she cared for him at all she would say she preferred to stay there.

“I was just thinking we ought to be going if we are going,” she answered.

“Come on then.”

Philip waited impatiently for the end of the performance. He had made up his mind exactly what to do, and when they got into the cab he passed his arm, as though almost by accident, round her waist. But he drew it back quickly with a little cry. He had pricked himself. She laughed.

“There, that comes of putting your arm where it’s got no business to be,” she said. “I always know when men try and put their arm round my waist. That pin always catches them.”

“I’ll be more careful.”

He put his arm round again. She made no objection.

“I’m so comfortable,” he sighed blissfully.

“So long as you’re happy,” she retorted.

They drove down St. James’ Street into the Park, and Philip quickly kissed her. He was strangely afraid of her, and it required all his courage. She turned her lips to him without speaking. She neither seemed to mind nor to like it.

“If you only knew how long I’ve wanted to do that,” he murmured.

He tried to kiss her again, but she turned her head away.

“Once is enough,” she said.

On the chance of kissing her a second time he travelled down to Herne Hill with her, and at the end of the road in which she lived he asked her:

“Won’t you give me another kiss?”

She looked at him indifferently and then glanced up the road to see that no one was in sight.

“I don’t mind.”

He seized her in his arms and kissed her passionately, but she pushed him away.

“Mind my hat, silly. You are clumsy,” she said.

LXI

He saw her then every day. He began going to lunch at the shop, but Mildred stopped him: she said it made the girls talk; so he had to content himself with tea; but he always waited about to walk with her to the station; and once or twice a week they dined together. He gave her little presents, a gold bangle, gloves, handkerchiefs, and the like. He was spending more than he could afford, but he could not help it: it was only when he gave her anything that she showed any affection. She knew the price of everything, and her gratitude was in exact proportion with the value of his gift. He did not care. He was too happy when she volunteered to kiss him to mind by what means he got her demonstrativeness. He discovered that she found Sundays at home tedious, so he went down to Herne Hill in the morning, met her at the end of the road, and went to church with her.

“I always like to go to church once,” she said. “It looks well, doesn’t it?”

Then she went back to dinner, he got a scrappy meal at a hotel, and in the afternoon they took a walk in Brockwell Park. They had nothing much to say to one another, and Philip, desperately afraid she was bored (she was very easily bored), racked his brain for topics of conversation. He realised that these walks amused neither of them, but he could not bear to leave her, and did all he could to lengthen them till she became tired and out of temper. He knew that she did not care for him, and he tried to force a love which his reason told him was not in her nature: she was cold. He had no claim on her, but he could not help being exacting. Now that they were more intimate he found it less easy to control his temper; he was often irritable and could not help saying bitter things. Often they quarrelled, and she would not speak to him for a while; but this always reduced him to subjection, and he crawled before her. He was angry with himself for showing so little dignity. He grew furiously jealous if he saw her speaking to any other man in the shop, and when he was jealous he seemed to be beside himself. He would deliberately insult her, leave the shop and spend afterwards a sleepless night tossing