f-past."

"I'll say good-night then."

"Good-night."

The table was between them. He did not offer to shake hands with her. She
shut the door quietly. He heard her moving about in the bed-room, and in
a little while he heard the creaking of the bed as she got in.

XCII

The following day was Tuesday. Philip as usual hurried through his
breakfast and dashed off to get to his lecture at nine. He had only time
to exchange a few words with Mildred. When he came back in the evening he
found her seated at the window, darning his socks.

"I say, you are industrious," he smiled. "What have you been doing with
yourself all day?"

"Oh, I gave the place a good cleaning and then I took baby out for a
little."

She was wearing an old black dress, the same as she had worn as uniform
when she served in the tea-shop; it was shabby, but she looked better in
it than in the silk of the day before. The baby was sitting on the floor.
She looked up at Philip with large, mysterious eyes and broke into a laugh
when he sat down beside her and began playing with her bare toes. The
afternoon sun came into the room and shed a mellow light.

"It's rather jolly to come back and find someone about the place. A woman
and a baby make very good decoration in a room."

He had gone to the hospital dispensary and got a bottle of Blaud's Pills,
He gave them to Mildred and told her she must take them after each meal.
It was a remedy she was used to, for she had taken it off and on ever
since she was sixteen.

"I'm sure Lawson would love that green skin of yours," said Philip. "He'd
say it was so paintable, but I'm terribly matter of fact nowadays, and I
shan't be happy till you're as pink and white as a milkmaid."

"I feel better already."

After a frugal supper Philip filled his pouch with tobacco and put on his
hat. It was on Tuesdays that he generally went to the tavern in Beak
Street, and he was glad that this day came so soon after Mildred's
arrival, for he wanted to make his relations with her perfectly clear.

"Are you going out?" she said.

"Yes, on Tuesdays I give myself a night off. I shall see you tomorrow.
Good-night."

Philip always went to the tavern with a sense of pleasure. Macalister, the
philosophic stockbroker, was generally there and glad to argue upon any
subject under the sun; Hayward came regularly when he was in London; and
though he and Macalister disliked one another they continued out of habit
to meet on