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

back the conversation to matters which only he and Norah knew about, but each time the journalist broke in and succeeded in drawing it away to a subject upon which Philip was forced to be silent. He grew faintly angry with Norah, for she must see he was being made ridiculous; but perhaps she was inflicting this upon him as a punishment, and with this thought he regained his good humour. At last, however, the clock struck six, and Kingsford got up.

“I must go,” he said.

Norah shook hands with him, and accompanied him to the landing. She shut the door behind her and stood outside for a couple of minutes. Philip wondered what they were talking about.

“Who is Mr. Kingsford?” he asked cheerfully, when she returned.

“Oh, he’s the editor of one of Harmsworth’s magazines. He’s been taking a good deal of my work lately.”

“I thought he was never going.”

“I’m glad you stayed. I wanted to have a talk with you.” She curled herself into the large armchair, feet and all, in a way her small size made possible, and lit a cigarette. He smiled when he saw her assume the attitude which had always amused him.

“You look just like a cat.”

She gave him a flash of her dark, fine eyes.

“I really ought to break myself of the habit. It’s absurd to behave like a child when you’re my age, but I’m comfortable with my legs under me.”

“It’s awfully jolly to be sitting in this room again,” said Philip happily. “You don’t know how I’ve missed it.”

“Why on earth didn’t you come before?” she asked gaily.

“I was afraid to,” he said, reddening.

She gave him a look full of kindness. Her lips outlined a charming smile.

“You needn’t have been.”

He hesitated for a moment. His heart beat quickly.

“D’you remember the last time we met? I treated you awfully badly⁠—I’m dreadfully ashamed of myself.”

She looked at him steadily. She did not answer. He was losing his head; he seemed to have come on an errand of which he was only now realising the outrageousness. She did not help him, and he could only blurt out bluntly.

“Can you ever forgive me?”

Then impetuously he told her that Mildred had left him and that his unhappiness had been so great that he almost killed himself. He told her of all that had happened between them, of the birth of the child, and of the meeting with Griffiths, of his folly and his trust and his immense deception. He told her how often he had thought of her kindness and of her love, and how bitterly he had regretted throwing it away: he had only been happy when he was with her, and he knew now how great was her worth. His voice was hoarse with emotion. Sometimes he was so ashamed of what he was saying that he spoke with his eyes fixed on the ground. His face was distorted with pain, and yet he felt it a strange relief to speak. At last he finished. He flung himself back in his chair, exhausted, and waited. He had concealed nothing, and even, in his self-abasement, he had striven to make himself more despicable than he had really been. He was surprised that she did not speak, and at last he raised his eyes. She was not looking at him. Her face was quite white, and she seemed to be lost in thought.

“Haven’t you got anything to say to me?”

She started and reddened.

“I’m afraid you’ve had a rotten time,” she said. “I’m dreadfully sorry.”

She seemed about to go on, but she stopped, and again he waited. At length she seemed to force herself to speak.

“I’m engaged to be married to Mr. Kingsford.”

“Why didn’t you tell me at once?” he cried. “You needn’t have allowed me to humiliate myself before you.”

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t stop you.⁠ ⁠… I met him soon after you”⁠—she seemed to search for an expression that should not wound him⁠—“told me your friend had come back. I was very wretched for a bit, he was extremely kind to me. He knew someone had made me suffer, of course he doesn’t know it was you, and I don’t know what I should have done without him. And suddenly I felt I couldn’t go on working, working, working; I was so tired, I felt so ill. I told him about my husband. He offered to give me the money to get my divorce if I would marry him as soon as I could. He had a very good job, and it wouldn’t be necessary for me to do anything unless I wanted to. He was so fond of me and so anxious to take care of me. I was awfully touched. And now I’m very, very fond of him.”

“Have you got your divorce then?” asked Philip.

“I’ve got the decree nisi. It’ll be made absolute in July, and then we are going to be married at once.”

For some time Philip did not say anything.

“I wish I hadn’t made such a fool of myself,” he muttered at length.

He was thinking of his long, humiliating confession. She looked at him curiously.

“You were never really in love with me,” she said.

“It’s not very pleasant being in love.”

But he was always able to recover himself quickly, and, getting up now and holding out his hand, he said:

“I hope you’ll be very happy. After all, it’s the best thing that could have happened to you.”

She looked a little wistfully at him as she took his hand and held it.

“You’ll come and see me again, won’t you?” she asked.

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “It would make me too envious to see you happy.”

He walked slowly away from her house. After all she was right when she said he had never loved her. He was disappointed, irritated even, but his vanity was more affected than his heart. He knew that himself. And presently he grew conscious that the gods had played a very good practical joke on him, and he laughed at himself mirthlessly. It is not