He nodded to her and forced a smile on his lips, then
jumped on a ’bus and made his way home.
He smoked a pipe before he went to bed, but he could
hardly keep his eyes open. He suffered no pain.
He fell into a heavy sleep almost as soon as his head
touched the pillow.
LXIV
But about three in the morning Philip awoke and could
not sleep again. He began to think of Mildred.
He tried not to, but could not help himself. He
repeated to himself the same thing time after time
till his brain reeled. It was inevitable that
she should marry: life was hard for a girl who
had to earn her own living; and if she found someone
who could give her a comfortable home she should not
be blamed if she accepted. Philip acknowledged
that from her point of view it would have been madness
to marry him: only love could have made such
poverty bearable, and she did not love him. It
was no fault of hers; it was a fact that must be accepted
like any other. Philip tried to reason with himself.
He told himself that deep down in his heart was mortified
pride; his passion had begun in wounded vanity, and
it was this at bottom which caused now a great part
of his wretchedness. He despised himself as much
as he despised her. Then he made plans for the
future, the same plans over and over again, interrupted
by recollections of kisses on her soft pale cheek and
by the sound of her voice with its trailing accent;
he had a great deal of work to do, since in the summer
he was taking chemistry as well as the two examinations
he had failed in. He had separated himself from
his friends at the hospital, but now he wanted companionship.
There was one happy occurrence: Hayward a fortnight
before had written to say that he was passing through
London and had asked him to dinner; but Philip, unwilling
to be bothered, had refused. He was coming back
for the season, and Philip made up his mind to write
to him.
He was thankful when eight o’clock struck and
he could get up. He was pale and weary.
But when he had bathed, dressed, and had breakfast,
he felt himself joined up again with the world at
large; and his pain was a little easier to bear.
He did not feel like going to lectures that morning,
but went instead to the Army and Navy Stores to buy
Mildred a wedding-present. After much wavering
he settled on a dressing-bag. It cost twenty pounds,
which was much more than he could afford, but it was
showy and vulgar: he knew she would be aware
exactly how much it cost; he got a melancholy satisfaction
in choosing a gift which would give her pleasure and
at the same time indicate for himself the contempt
he had for her.
