into little bits and going out into the street
scattered them in the darkness.

"I'll see her damned," he muttered.

A feeling of disgust surged up in him at the thought of seeing her again.
He did not care if she was in distress, it served her right whatever it
was, he thought of her with hatred, and the love he had had for her
aroused his loathing. His recollections filled him with nausea, and as he
walked across the Thames he drew himself aside in an instinctive
withdrawal from his thought of her. He went to bed, but he could not
sleep; he wondered what was the matter with her, and he could not get out
of his head the fear that she was ill and hungry; she would not have
written to him unless she were desperate. He was angry with himself for
his weakness, but he knew that he would have no peace unless he saw her.
Next morning he wrote a letter-card and posted it on his way to the shop.
He made it as stiff as he could and said merely that he was sorry she was
in difficulties and would come to the address she had given at seven
o'clock that evening.

It was that of a shabby lodging-house in a sordid street; and when, sick
at the thought of seeing her, he asked whether she was in, a wild hope
seized him that she had left. It looked the sort of place people moved in
and out of frequently. He had not thought of looking at the postmark on
her letter and did not know how many days it had lain in the rack. The
woman who answered the bell did not reply to his inquiry, but silently
preceded him along the passage and knocked on a door at the back.

"Mrs. Miller, a gentleman to see you," she called.

The door was slightly opened, and Mildred looked out suspiciously.

"Oh, it's you," she said. "Come in."

He walked in and she closed the door. It was a very small bed-room, untidy
as was every place she lived in; there was a pair of shoes on the floor,
lying apart from one another and uncleaned; a hat was on the chest of
drawers, with false curls beside it; and there was a blouse on the table.
Philip looked for somewhere to put his hat. The hooks behind the door were
laden with skirts, and he noticed that they were muddy at the hem.

"Sit down, won't you?" she said. Then she gave a little awkward laugh. "I
suppose you were surprised to hear from me again."

"You're awfully hoarse," he answered. "Have you got a sore throat?"

"Yes, I have had for some time."

He did not say anything. He waited for her to explain why she wa