he had not to dwell on it, because he was afraid the temptation would get hold of him so that he would not be able to help himself.  He kept on saying to himself that it would be absurd to commit suicide, since something must happen soon; he could not get over the impression that his situation was too preposterous to be taken quite seriously; it was like an illness which must be endured but from which he was bound to recover.  Every night he swore that nothing would induce him to put up with such another and determined next morning to write to his uncle, or to Mr. Nixon, the solicitor, or to Lawson; but when the time came he could not bring himself to make the humiliating confession of his utter failure.  He did not know how Lawson would take it.  In their friendship Lawson had been scatter-brained and he had prided himself on his common sense.  He would have to tell the whole history of his folly.  He had an uneasy feeling that Lawson, after helping him, would turn the cold shoulder on him.  His uncle and the solicitor would of course do something for him, but he dreaded their reproaches.  He did not want anyone to reproach him:  he clenched his teeth and repeated that what had happened was inevitable just because it had happened.  Regret was absurd.

The days were unending, and the five shillings Lawson had lent him would not last much longer.  Philip longed for Sunday to come so that he could go to Athelny’s.  He did not know what prevented him from going there sooner, except perhaps that he wanted so badly to get through on his own; for Athelny, who had been in straits as desperate, was the only person who could do anything for him.  Perhaps after dinner he could bring himself to tell Athelny that he was in difficulties.  Philip repeated to himself over and over again what he should say to him.  He was dreadfully afraid that Athelny would put him off with airy phrases:  that would be so horrible that he wanted to delay as long as possible the putting of him to the test.  Philip had lost all confidence in his fellows.

Saturday night was cold and raw.  Philip suffered horribly.  From midday on Saturday till he dragged himself wearily to Athelny’s house he ate nothing.  He spent his last twopence on Sunday morning on a wash and a brush up in the lavatory at Charing Cross.

CI

When Philip rang a head was put out of the window, and in a minute he heard a noisy clatter on the stairs as the children ran down to let him in.  It was a pale, anxious, thin face that he bent down for them to kiss.  He was so moved by their exuberant affection that, to give himself time to recover, he made excuses to linger on the stairs.  He was in a hysterical state and almost anything was enough to make him cry.  They asked him why he had not come on the previous Sunday, and he told them he had been ill; they wanted to know what was the matter with him; and Philip, to amuse them, suggested a mysterious ailment, the name