第九十五章
他们从布赖顿回到伦敦以后，菲利普便上外科病房做包扎工作。他对外科的兴趣不如对内科来得浓厚，因为内科学是一门以经验为依据的科学，给人的想象力以更大的驰骋余地，再说，外科的工作相应地要比内科的累人一些。上午九点至十点他得去听课。课一散，便上病房包扎伤口啦，拆线啦，换绷带啦，忙个不停。菲利普自夸上绷带还有一手。每当护上说了句把赞许的话，他听后心里总有一种甜丝丝的感觉。每周总有几个下午进行外科手术，此时，菲利普便身穿白大褂，站在手术示范室的助手位置上，随时递上手术师所需要的器械，或者用海绵吸去污血，好让手术师看清下手的位置。一旦对不常见的疑难病症开刀时，手术示范室里就挤得满屋子都是人，不过，通常只有五六个学生在场。接着手术便在一种菲利普颇为欣赏的恬静的气氛下有条不紊地进行着。当时，世人好像特别爱生阑尾炎似的，被送进手术室来割除盲肠的病人何其多矣！菲利普在一名外科医生手下当敷裹员，而这位大夫同他的一名同事进行着一场友好对抗赛，比谁盲肠割除得快，谁的切口小。
不久，菲利普被指派去负责事故急诊病人。敷裹员们轮流担当此职，轮上一次，连续值班三天。在这期间，他们得住在医院，一日三餐都在公共休息室里吃。大楼底层临时收容室附近有个房间，里面有张床，白天叠起来放在壁橱里。无论白天黑夜，当班的敷裹员都得随叫随到，时刻准备照料送来的受伤病人，从早到晚，疲于奔命。夜里，每过一两个小时，头顶上方的铃声便当哪当哪响个不停；铃声一响，当班的敷裹员便本能地从床上一跃而起。星期六夜里当然是最忙的，特别是酒馆一打烊，医院里更是忙得不可开交。警察们把一个个醉汉送进来。此时，他们得赶快用胃唧筒把他们胃里的酒抽出来。而送进来的女人比那些醉汉情况更严重，不是被她们的丈夫打破了头，就是打得鼻子鲜血直淌。其中有的女人对大赌咒发誓，要上法庭去控告丈夫；有的则羞愧万分，只说是碰上交通事故了。面对这种种情况，敷裹员能处理的，便尽力而为，如处理不了，便去把住院医生请来。不过，敷裹员们一个个都很谨慎，万不得已才去请住院医生，因为住院医生没有好处是决不愿意跑五段楼梯下来看病的。送进医院来的，从断了个指头到割断喉管，各色病人，应有尽有。小伙子们跑来要求包扎被机器轧坏了的双手；被马车撞倒了的行人，在玩耍时不是摔断了腿就是跌折了手的小孩，也被送进医院。间或，警察们还把自杀未遂者抬了进来。菲利普看到一个人脸色惨白，圆睁着一双疯狂的眼睛，嘴巴张着吐出大口大口的血。菲利普在病房里工作了数周之后，一次负责照看一名警官。那位警官看到自己还活着，整天不说一句话，一脸的愤怒和凶相，还公开嚷道，他一出院还要自杀。病房里塞满了病人，此时警察们再送病人来，住院医生就会处于进退两难、首鼠两端的境地。要是叫他们把病人抬到火车站转别处去治疗，万一病人就死在火车站，那各家报纸就会发表耸人听闻的言论。可是有时候也很难断定病人究竟是奄奄一息呢还是醉酒不醒。菲利普直到累得力不能支的时候才上床睡觉，省得才躺下个把小时又要爬起来。他趁工作间隙时间，到急救室同夜班女护士一起聊天。这个女人一副男人相，头发花白，在急救部当了二十年的护士。她很喜欢这个工作，因为不论什么事她自个儿可以说了算，没旁的护士来打扰她。她干起事来手脚不快，不过非常能干，在处理危急病人方面从未出过差错。敷裹员们，不是初出茅庐毫无经验，就是一有事就慌了神儿，但一看到她在场，就顿觉浑身增添了无穷无尽的力量。她见过敷裹员千百个，可从来没有在她脑子里留下一点印象，无论是谁，她都管他们叫布朗先生。当他们劝戒她以后别叫他们布朗先生，并把他们的真实姓名告诉她时，她只是点点头，过后还是继续叫他们布朗先生。她那个房间没什么摆设，只有两张马毛呢面子的长椅，一盏火光融融的煤气灯。菲利普饶有兴趣地坐在那儿聆听她的谈话。她早已不把那些送进医院来的病人当人看待了。在她眼里，他们只是酒鬼、断臂、割破的喉咙。她把疾病、不幸和世界的残忍统统当作理所当然的事情，觉得人们的行动既无值得赞扬也无值得责备的地方。她都默认了。她具有某种冷峭的幽默感。
"有个人的自杀事儿，我至今还记得清清楚楚，"她对菲利普说。"那个人跳进了泰晤士河。人们把他捞了出来，并把他送到这儿来。可十天后，他因喝了泰晤士河里的水而得了伤寒症。"
"他死了吗？"
"是的，他死了。他是不是自杀，我也一直弄不清楚……也真有趣，还会寻短见。我还记得有个人，他找不到活儿干，老婆也死了，就把衣服全部送进当铺，拿了这笔钱买了支左轮手枪。他把自己弄得不成人样，打瞎了一只眼睛，可人却没有死。后来你猜他怎么样，一只眼睛瞎了，脸皮也给削去一块，可他得出个结论，说这个世界毕竟还不太坏。打那以后，他日子还过得挺好的哩。有件事情我一直在注意观察，那就是人们并不像你认为的那样是为爱情去自杀的。这种说法纯粹是小说家们的胡思乱想。人们之所以要寻短见，是因为他们没有钱。我也不知道为什么会这样的。"
"看来金钱比爱情更为重要，"菲利普说道。
就在那时候，钱的事儿不时地在他脑海里盘旋着。他过去常说两人的开销跟一个人的差不多，现在看来那话说得太轻飘了，事实上根本不是这么回事。他越来越为自己的开销之大而发愁。米尔德现德可不是个好管家，由她当家，花费之大，就好比他们一日几餐都是在馆子里吃似的。再说，那个小孩要添置衣服，米尔德丽德要买靴子以及其他一些离了它们就没法过活的零星什物。他们从布赖顿回到伦敦以后，米尔德丽德口口声声说要出去找工作，但就是不见她行动。没几天，一场重感冒害得她接连半个月卧病在床。痊愈后，她根据招聘广告出去试了几次，结果不是因为去迟了位子被人占去，就是因为活儿太重她吃不消而作罢。一次，有个地方主动招她去做工，每周工资十四先令，可她认为自己不应该只拿那么点工资。
"不管人家开什么价你都接受，那样做是没有好处的，"她振振有词地说。"要是你太自贱了，人家会瞧不起的。"
"我认为每周十四先令也不能算少了，"菲利普干巴巴地顶了一句。
菲利普不禁想有了这十四先令，家里的开销就可以松一些了。可米尔德丽德已经在暗示菲利普，说她之所以找不到工作，是因为她去会见雇主的时候，身上没有一件像样的衣服。菲利普便买了件给她。虽然她又出去试了几次，但菲利普认为她根本不诚心找工作，啥事都不想干。菲利普所了解的唯一生财之道是股票交易所。他夏天初次尝试，就得到了甜头，眼下急于再交个好运。但是，德兰士瓦发生了战事，南非境内一切陷入停顿。马卡利斯特对菲利普说，不出一个月，雷德弗斯·布勒就要开进比勒陀利亚，到那时，行情就会看涨。眼下他们只有耐心等待，等着英国的反击使物价下跌，到那时兴许可以购进股票。菲利普迫不及待地翻阅着他常看的报纸上的"市井趣谈"专栏。他忧心忡忡，肝火很旺，动不动就发脾气。有那么一两次，他正言厉色地说了米尔德丽德几句，可碰上米尔德丽德既不圆通也没那份耐心，当场以牙还牙，发了通脾气，结果两人大吵一场。菲利普照例对自己所做的事情感到悔恨万分，而米尔德丽德对人生就没有宽容之心，接连好几天，不给菲利普一点好颜色看，并且吃饭时故作姿态，有意不扫房间，把衣服什物扔得起居室满地都是，变着法儿来刺激菲利普，搅得他一刻不得安宁。菲利普一门心思注视着战事的进展，早早晚晚贪婪地翻阅着报纸，可她对眼前的一切却毫无兴趣。她在街道上结识了几个人，其中一位曾问过她是否要叫副牧师来看看她。米尔德丽德便戴上一只结婚戒指，自称为凯里太太。寓所墙上挂了两三张菲利普在巴黎创作的画，其中两张是女人的裸体像，还有一张画的是米格尔·阿胡里亚，画面上的米格尔·阿胡里亚紧握双拳，两腿叉开地挺立着。菲利普把这几张画挂在墙上，因为它们是他的最佳画作，一看见它们，他就想起了在巴黎度过的那段美好时光。米尔德丽德对这几张裸体画早就看不顺眼了。
"菲利普，我希望你把那几张画摘下来，"一天，她终于憋不住了，开腔说道。"昨天下午住十三号的福尔曼太太来后，我的眼睛不知看什么好了。我发觉她两眼瞪视着那几张画。"
"那几张画怎么啦？"
"那几张画很不正经。照我说，房间里挂满了裸体画像，真叫人讨厌。再说这对我的孩子也没有益处。她慢慢开始懂事了。"
"你怎么这样庸俗？"
"庸俗？我说这是叫趣味高雅。对这几张画，我一直没说过什么话，难道你就以为我喜欢成天价看着那几个赤身裸体的画中人吗？"
"米尔德丽德，你怎么就没有一点点幽默感呢？"菲利普口气冷冷地诘问道。
"我不晓得此事跟幽默感有什么关系。我真想伸手把它们摘下来。如果你想听听我对这几张画的看法，那么老实告诉你，我认为它们令人作呕。"
"我不想知道你有什么看法，我也不准你碰这几张画。"
每当米尔德丽德同菲利普怄气时，她就拿孩子出气，借此惩罚菲利普。那个小女孩正如菲利普喜欢她那样也非常喜欢菲利普。她把每天清晨爬进菲利普的卧室（她快两岁了，已经会走路了），随即被抱进他的被窝里这件事，当作一大乐事。米尔德丽德一不让她爬时，她就会伤心地哭叫起来。菲利普一劝说，米尔德丽德随即顶撞道：
"我不希望她养成这种习惯。"
此时，要是菲利普再多言，她就会说：
"我怎么管教我的孩子，不与你相干。让别人听见了，还以为你就是她的老子呢。我是她的老娘，我应该知道什么事是对她有好处的，难道我不应该吗？"
米尔德丽德竟如此不明事理，菲利普感到非常恼怒。不过，菲利普这一向对她很冷淡，因此很少生她的气了。对她在自己身边走动，菲利普也慢慢习惯了。转眼圣诞节到了，菲利普有几天假日。他带了几棵冬青树回家，把房间装饰了一番。圣诞节那天，他还分别给米尔德丽德及其女儿赠送了几件小小的礼物。他们总共才两个人，所以不能吃火鸡了。但是米尔德丽德还是烧了只小鸡，煮了块圣诞节布丁，这些东西是她从街上食品店里买来的。他们俩还喝了瓶葡萄酒。吃完晚餐后，菲利普坐在炉火边的安乐椅里，抽着烟斗。他喝不惯葡萄酒，几滴酒下肚，倒使他暂时忘却了近来一直在为钱操心的事儿。他感到心旷神怡。不一会儿，米尔德丽德走了进来，告诉他那女孩要他吻她。菲利普脸带微笑地走进了米尔德丽德的卧室。接着，他哄那孩子闭上眼睛睡觉，随手捻暗煤气灯。在走出卧室时，他怕孩子会哭，便让房门敞开着。他回到了起居室。
"你坐在哪儿？"他问米尔德丽德说。
"你还坐在安乐椅里。我就坐在地板上。"
他坐进安乐椅里，接着米尔德丽德席地坐在火炉前，背倚着菲利普的双膝。此时，他不由得回想起当初在沃克斯霍尔大桥路那个房间里的情景来了。那时，他们俩也是这样坐着，不同的是两人的位子颠倒了一下。当时，他菲利普坐在地板上，把头搁在米尔德丽德的膝上。那会儿，他是多么*地爱着她呀！眼下，他心中萌发出一种长久以来没有过的温情。他仿佛感到那女孩的柔软的双臂依然环绕着他的颈部。
"你坐得舒服吗？"他问米尔德丽德。
米尔德丽德抬头仰望着菲利普，脸上笑容嫣然，随即点了点头。他们俩神情恍惚地望着壁炉里的火苗，谁也不说话。最后，米尔德丽德转过身来，凝视着菲利普，眼睛里闪烁着好奇的目光。
"打我来到这里，你还一次没吻过我呢。你知道吗？"她突然说道。
"你要我吻吗？"菲利普笑着反问了一句。
"我想你再也不会用那种方式来表示你喜欢我了吧？"
"我非常喜欢你。"
"你更喜欢我的女儿。"
菲利普没有回答，此时，米尔德丽德将脸颊紧贴着他的手。
"你不再生我的气了？"接着她又问道，两眼望着地板。
"我为什么要生你的气呢？"
"我从来没有像现在这样喜欢你，我是在历尽辛苦、受尽磨难之后才学会爱你的呀。"
听到她说出这样的话来，菲利普的心一下子冷了半截。她用的那些词语全是她从看过的廉价小说里抠来的。他不禁怀疑她说这番话时，她心里是否当真是那样想的。或许她除了运用从《家政先驱报》上学来的夸张言词之外，不知道用什么办法来表达她的真情实感吧。
"我们俩像这样子生活在一起，似乎太离奇了。"
菲利普久久没有作答，沉默再次笼罩着他们俩。不过最后菲利普终于开口说话了，看来还没完没了呢。
"你不要生我的气。这类事情的发生，实在也是没有法子。我知道我过去因为你做的那些事情而认为你刻毒、狠心，但我也太傻气了。你过去不爱我，为此而责备你是荒谬的。我曾经认为我可以想法子叫你爱我，但我现在明白了，那是根本不可能的。我不知道是什么东西使得别人爱上你的，但不管是什么缘故，只有一个条件在起作用，要是不具备这个条件，你的心再好，你再大方，也决不能创造出这种条件来的。"
"我早该想到，要是你曾经真心实意地爱我，那你应该仍旧爱着我。"
"我也早该这么想的。我至今还记得清清楚楚。过去我常常认为这种爱情将是天长地久不会变的。那时候，我感到宁愿去死也不能没有你。我时常渴望着有那么一天，当你色衰容谢，谁也不喜欢你的时候，我将永生永世陪伴着你。"
米尔德南德默不作声。接着，她站了起来，说是要上床歇着去了。她朝菲利普胆怯地启齿笑了笑。
"今天是圣诞节，菲利普，你愿意同我吻别吗？"
菲利普哈哈一笑，双颊微微发红。他吻了吻米尔德丽德。米尔德丽德走进了卧室，他便开始埋头读书。
When they returned to London Philip began his dressing in the surgical wards. He was not so much interested in surgery as in medicine, which, a more empirical science, offered greater scope to the imagination. The work was a little harder than the corresponding work on the medical side. There was a lecture from nine till ten, when he went into the wards; there wounds had to be dressed, stitches taken out, bandages renewed: Philip prided himself a little on his skill in bandaging, and it amused him to wring a word of approval from a nurse. On certain afternoons in the week there were operations; and he stood in the well of the theatre, in a white jacket, ready to hand the operating surgeon any instrument he wanted or to sponge the blood away so that he could see what he was about. When some rare operation was to be performed the theatre would fill up, but generally there were not more than half a dozen students present, and then the proceedings had a cosiness which Philip enjoyed. At that time the world at large seemed to have a passion for appendicitis, and a good many cases came to the operating theatre for this complaint: the surgeon for whom Philip dressed was in friendly rivalry with a colleague as to which could remove an appendix in the shortest time and with the smallest incision.
In due course Philip was put on accident duty. The dressers took this in turn; it lasted three days, during which they lived in hospital and ate their meals in the common-room; they had a room on the ground floor near the casualty ward, with a bed that shut up during the day into a cupboard. The dresser on duty had to be at hand day and night to see to any casualty that came in. You were on the move all the time, and not more than an hour or two passed during the night without the clanging of the bell just above your head which made you leap out of bed instinctively. Saturday night was of course the busiest time and the closing of the public-houses the busiest hour. Men would be brought in by the police dead drunk and it would be necessary to administer a stomach-pump; women, rather the worse for liquor themselves, would come in with a wound on the head or a bleeding nose which their husbands had given them: some would vow to have the law on him, and others, ashamed, would declare that it had been an accident. What the dresser could manage himself he did, but if there was anything important he sent for the house-surgeon: he did this with care, since the house-surgeon was not vastly pleased to be dragged down five flights of stairs for nothing. The cases ranged from a cut finger to a cut throat. Boys came in with hands mangled by some machine, men were brought who had been knocked down by a cab, and children who had broken a limb while playing: now and then attempted suicides were carried in by the police: Philip saw a ghastly, wild-eyed man with a great gash from ear to ear, and he was in the ward for weeks afterwards in charge of a constable, silent, angry because he was alive, and sullen; he made no secret of the fact that he would try again to kill himself as soon as he was released. The wards were crowded, and the house-surgeon was faced with a dilemma when patients were brought in by the police: if they were sent on to the station and died there disagreeable things were said in the papers; and it was very difficult sometimes to tell if a man was dying or drunk. Philip did not go to bed till he was tired out, so that he should not have the bother of getting up again in an hour; and he sat in the casualty ward talking in the intervals of work with the night-nurse. She was a gray-haired woman of masculine appearance, who had been night-nurse in the casualty department for twenty years. She liked the work because she was her own mistress and had no sister to bother her. Her movements were slow, but she was immensely capable and she never failed in an emergency. The dressers, often inexperienced or nervous, found her a tower of strength. She had seen thousands of them, and they made no impression upon her: she always called them Mr. Brown; and when they expostulated and told her their real names, she merely nodded and went on calling them Mr. Brown. It interested Philip to sit with her in the bare room, with its two horse-hair couches and the flaring gas, and listen to her. She had long ceased to look upon the people who came in as human beings; they were drunks, or broken arms, or cut throats. She took the vice and misery and cruelty of the world as a matter of course; she found nothing to praise or blame in human actions: she accepted. She had a certain grim humour.
‘I remember one suicide,’ she said to Philip, ‘who threw himself into the Thames. They fished him out and brought him here, and ten days later he developed typhoid fever from swallowing Thames water.’
‘Did he die?’
‘Yes, he did all right. I could never make up my mind if it was suicide or not.... They’re a funny lot, suicides. I remember one man who couldn’t get any work to do and his wife died, so he pawned his clothes and bought a revolver; but he made a mess of it, he only shot out an eye and he got all right. And then, if you please, with an eye gone and a piece of his face blow away, he came to the conclusion that the world wasn’t such a bad place after all, and he lived happily ever afterwards. Thing I’ve always noticed, people don’t commit suicide for love, as you’d expect, that’s just a fancy of novelists; they commit suicide because they haven’t got any money. I wonder why that is.’
‘I suppose money’s more important than love,’ suggested Philip.
Money was in any case occupying Philip’s thoughts a good deal just then. He discovered the little truth there was in the airy saying which himself had repeated, that two could live as cheaply as one, and his expenses were beginning to worry him. Mildred was not a good manager, and it cost them as much to live as if they had eaten in restaurants; the child needed clothes, and Mildred boots, an umbrella, and other small things which it was impossible for her to do without. When they returned from Brighton she had announced her intention of getting a job, but she took no definite steps, and presently a bad cold laid her up for a fortnight. When she was well she answered one or two advertisements, but nothing came of it: either she arrived too late and the vacant place was filled, or the work was more than she felt strong enough to do. Once she got an offer, but the wages were only fourteen shillings a week, and she thought she was worth more than that.
‘It’s no good letting oneself be put upon,’ she remarked. ‘People don’t respect you if you let yourself go too cheap.’
‘I don’t think fourteen shillings is so bad,’ answered Philip, drily.
He could not help thinking how useful it would be towards the expenses of the household, and Mildred was already beginning to hint that she did not get a place because she had not got a decent dress to interview employers in. He gave her the dress, and she made one or two more attempts, but Philip came to the conclusion that they were not serious. She did not want to work. The only way he knew to make money was on the Stock Exchange, and he was very anxious to repeat the lucky experiment of the summer; but war had broken out with the Transvaal and nothing was doing in South Africans. Macalister told him that Redvers Buller would march into Pretoria in a month and then everything would boom. The only thing was to wait patiently. What they wanted was a British reverse to knock things down a bit, and then it might be worth while buying. Philip began reading assiduously the ‘city chat’ of his favourite newspaper. He was worried and irritable. Once or twice he spoke sharply to Mildred, and since she was neither tactful nor patient she answered with temper, and they quarrelled. Philip always expressed his regret for what he had said, but Mildred had not a forgiving nature, and she would sulk for a couple of days. She got on his nerves in all sorts of ways; by the manner in which she ate, and by the untidiness which made her leave articles of clothing about their sitting-room: Philip was excited by the war and devoured the papers, morning and evening; but she took no interest in anything that happened. She had made the acquaintance of two or three people who lived in the street, and one of them had asked if she would like the curate to call on her. She wore a wedding-ring and called herself Mrs. Carey. On Philip’s walls were two or three of the drawings which he had made in Paris, nudes, two of women and one of Miguel Ajuria, standing very square on his feet, with clenched fists. Philip kept them because they were the best things he had done, and they reminded him of happy days. Mildred had long looked at them with disfavour.
‘I wish you’d take those drawings down, Philip,’ she said to him at last. ‘Mrs. Foreman, of number thirteen, came in yesterday afternoon, and I didn’t know which way to look. I saw her staring at them.’
‘What’s the matter with them?’
‘They’re indecent. Disgusting, that’s what I call it, to have drawings of naked people about. And it isn’t nice for baby either. She’s beginning to notice things now.’
‘How can you be so vulgar?’
‘Vulgar? Modest, I call it. I’ve never said anything, but d’you think I like having to look at those naked people all day long.’
‘Have you no sense of humour at all, Mildred?’ he asked frigidly.
‘I don’t know what sense of humour’s got to do with it. I’ve got a good mind to take them down myself. If you want to know what I think about them, I think they’re disgusting.’
‘I don’t want to know what you think about them, and I forbid you to touch them.’
When Mildred was cross with him she punished him through the baby. The little girl was as fond of Philip as he was of her, and it was her great pleasure every morning to crawl into his room (she was getting on for two now and could walk pretty well), and be taken up into his bed. When Mildred stopped this the poor child would cry bitterly. To Philip’s remonstrances she replied:
‘I don’t want her to get into habits.’
And if then he said anything more she said:
‘It’s nothing to do with you what I do with my child. To hear you talk one would think you was her father. I’m her mother, and I ought to know what’s good for her, oughtn’t I?’
Philip was exasperated by Mildred’s stupidity; but he was so indifferent to her now that it was only at times she made him angry. He grew used to having her about. Christmas came, and with it a couple of days holiday for Philip. He brought some holly in and decorated the flat, and on Christmas Day he gave small presents to Mildred and the baby. There were only two of them so they could not have a turkey, but Mildred roasted a chicken and boiled a Christmas pudding which she had bought at a local grocer’s. They stood themselves a bottle of wine. When they had dined Philip sat in his arm-chair by the fire, smoking his pipe; and the unaccustomed wine had made him forget for a while the anxiety about money which was so constantly with him. He felt happy and comfortable. Presently Mildred came in to tell him that the baby wanted him to kiss her good-night, and with a smile he went into Mildred’s bed-room. Then, telling the child to go to sleep, he turned down the gas and, leaving the door open in case she cried, went back into the sitting-room.
‘Where are you going to sit?’ he asked Mildred.
‘You sit in your chair. I’m going to sit on the floor.’
When he sat down she settled herself in front of the fire and leaned against his knees. He could not help remembering that this was how they had sat together in her rooms in the Vauxhall Bridge Road, but the positions had been reversed; it was he who had sat on the floor and leaned his head against her knee. How passionately he had loved her then! Now he felt for her a tenderness he had not known for a long time. He seemed still to feel twined round his neck the baby’s soft little arms.
‘Are you comfy?’ he asked.
She looked up at him, gave a slight smile, and nodded. They gazed into the fire dreamily, without speaking to one another. At last she turned round and stared at him curiously.
‘D’you know that you haven’t kissed me once since I came here?’ she said suddenly.
‘D’you want me to?’ he smiled.
‘I suppose you don’t care for me in that way any more?’
‘I’m very fond of you.’
‘You’re much fonder of baby.’
He did not answer, and she laid her cheek against his hand.
‘You’re not angry with me any more?’ she asked presently, with her eyes cast down.
‘Why on earth should I be?’
‘I’ve never cared for you as I do now. It’s only since I passed through the fire that I’ve learnt to love you.’ It chilled Philip to hear her make use of the sort of phrase she read in the penny novelettes which she devoured. Then he wondered whether what she said had any meaning for her: perhaps she knew no other way to express her genuine feelings than the stilted language of The Family Herald.
‘It seems so funny our living together like this.’
He did not reply for quite a long time, and silence fell upon them again; but at last he spoke and seemed conscious of no interval.
‘You mustn’t be angry with me. One can’t help these things. I remember that I thought you wicked and cruel because you did this, that, and the other; but it was very silly of me. You didn’t love me, and it was absurd to blame you for that. I thought I could make you love me, but I know now that was impossible. I don’t know what it is that makes someone love you, but whatever it is, it’s the only thing that matters, and if it isn’t there you won’t create it by kindness, or generosity, or anything of that sort.’
‘I should have thought if you’d loved me really you’d have loved me still.’
‘I should have thought so too. I remember how I used to think that it would last for ever, I felt I would rather die than be without you, and I used to long for the time when you would be faded and wrinkled so that nobody cared for you any more and I should have you all to myself.’
She did not answer, and presently she got up and said she was going to bed. She gave a timid little smile.
‘It’s Christmas Day, Philip, won’t you kiss me good-night?’
He gave a laugh, blushed slightly, and kissed her. She went to her bed-room and he began to read.
