mist was tenuous; it bathed
everything in a soft radiance; and the Thames was gray, rosy, and green;
gray like mother-of-pearl and green like the heart of a yellow rose. The
wharfs and store-houses of the Surrey Side were massed in disorderly
loveliness. The scene was so exquisite that Philip's heart beat
passionately. He was overwhelmed by the beauty of the world. Beside that
nothing seemed to matter.

CXV

Philip spent the few weeks that remained before the beginning of the
winter session in the out-patients' department, and in October settled
down to regular work. He had been away from the hospital for so long that
he found himself very largely among new people; the men of different years
had little to do with one another, and his contemporaries were now mostly
qualified: some had left to take up assistantships or posts in country
hospitals and infirmaries, and some held appointments at St. Luke's. The
two years during which his mind had lain fallow had refreshed him, he
fancied, and he was able now to work with energy.

The Athelnys were delighted with his change of fortune. He had kept aside
a few things from the sale of his uncle's effects and gave them all
presents. He gave Sally a gold chain that had belonged to his aunt. She
was now grown up. She was apprenticed to a dressmaker and set out every
morning at eight to work all day in a shop in Regent Street. Sally had
frank blue eyes, a broad brow, and plentiful shining hair; she was buxom,
with broad hips and full breasts; and her father, who was fond of
discussing her appearance, warned her constantly that she must not grow
fat. She attracted because she was healthy, animal, and feminine. She had
many admirers, but they left her unmoved; she gave one the impression that
she looked upon love-making as nonsense; and it was easy to imagine that
young men found her unapproachable. Sally was old for her years: she had
been used to help her mother in the household work and in the care of the
children, so that she had acquired a managing air, which made her mother
say that Sally was a bit too fond of having things her own way. She did
not speak very much, but as she grew older she seemed to be acquiring a
quiet sense of humour, and sometimes uttered a remark which suggested that
beneath her impassive exterior she was quietly bubbling with amusement at
her fellow-creatures. Philip found that with her he never got on the terms
of affectionate intimacy upon which