He could see she did not care if he saw Griffiths or not.  Now that she was there he wanted her to go quickly.

“Look here, here’s the fiver.  I’d like you to go now.”

She took it and thanked him.  She turned to leave the room.

“When are you coming back?” he asked.

“Oh, on Monday.  Harry must go home then.”

He knew what he was going to say was humiliating, but he was broken down with jealousy and desire.

“Then I shall see you, shan’t I?”

He could not help the note of appeal in his voice.

“Of course.  I’ll let you know the moment I’m back.”

He shook hands with her.  Through the curtains he watched her jump into a four-wheeler that stood at the door.  It rolled away.  Then he threw himself on his bed and hid his face in his hands.  He felt tears coming to his eyes, and he was angry with himself; he clenched his hands and screwed up his body to prevent them; but he could not; and great painful sobs were forced from him.

He got up at last, exhausted and ashamed, and washed his face.  He mixed himself a strong whiskey and soda.  It made him feel a little better.  Then he caught sight of the tickets to Paris, which were on the chimney-piece, and, seizing them, with an impulse of rage he flung them in the fire.  He knew he could have got the money back on them, but it relieved him to destroy them.  Then he went out in search of someone to be with.  The club was empty.  He felt he would go mad unless he found someone to talk to; but Lawson was abroad; he went on to Hayward’s rooms:  the maid who opened the door told him that he had gone down to Brighton for the week-end.  Then Philip went to a gallery and found it was just closing.  He did not know what to do.  He was distracted.  And he thought of Griffiths and Mildred going to Oxford, sitting opposite one another in the train, happy.  He went back to his rooms, but they filled him with horror, he had been so wretched in them; he tried once more to read Burton’s book, but, as he read, he told himself again and again what a fool he had been; it was he who had made the suggestion that they should go away, he had offered the money, he had forced it upon them; he might have known what would happen when he introduced Griffiths to Mildred; his own vehement passion was enough to arouse the other’s desire.  By this time they had reached Oxford.  They would put up in one of the lodging-houses in John Street; Philip had never been to Oxford, but Griffiths had talked to him about it so much that he knew exactly where they would go; and they would dine at the Clarendon:  Griffiths had been in the habit of dining there when he went on the spree.  Philip got himself something to eat in a restaurant near Charing Cross; he had made up his mind to go to a play, and afterwards he fought his way into the pit of a theatre at which one of Oscar Wilde’s pieces was being performed.  He wondered if Mildred and Griffiths would go to a play