Mildred was not a woman who conceived the possibility of compassion,
generosity, or kindness. Her only conclusion was that Philip was queer.
She took it into her head that the reasons for his conduct were
chivalrous; and, her imagination filled with the extravagances of cheap
fiction, she pictured to herself all sorts of romantic explanations for
his delicacy. Her fancy ran riot with bitter misunderstandings,
purifications by fire, snow-white souls, and death in the cruel cold of a
Christmas night. She made up her mind that when they went to Brighton she
would put an end to all his nonsense; they would be alone there, everyone
would think them husband and wife, and there would be the pier and the
band. When she found that nothing would induce Philip to share the same
room with her, when he spoke to her about it with a tone in his voice she
had never heard before, she suddenly realised that he did not want her.
She was astounded. She remembered all he had said in the past and how
desperately he had loved her. She felt humiliated and angry, but she had
a sort of native insolence which carried her through. He needn't think she
was in love with him, because she wasn't. She hated him sometimes, and she
longed to humble him; but she found herself singularly powerless; she did
not know which way to handle him. She began to be a little nervous with
him. Once or twice she cried. Once or twice she set herself to be
particularly nice to him; but when she took his arm while they walked
along the front at night he made some excuse in a while to release
himself, as though it were unpleasant for him to be touched by her. She
could not make it out. The only hold she had over him was through the
baby, of whom he seemed to grow fonder and fonder: she could make him
white with anger by giving the child a slap or a push; and the only time
the old, tender smile came back into his eyes was when she stood with the
baby in her arms. She noticed it when she was being photographed like that
by a man on the beach, and afterwards she often stood in the same way for
Philip to look at her.

When they got back to London Mildred began looking for the work she had
asserted was so easy to find; she wanted now to be independent of Philip;
and she thought of the satisfaction with which she would announce to him
that she was going into rooms and would take the child with her. But her
heart failed her when she came into closer contact with the possibility.