eyes open. He suffered no pain. He fell into a heavy sleep
almost as soon as his head touched the pillow.

LXIV

But about three in the morning Philip awoke and could not sleep again. He
began to think of Mildred. He tried not to, but could not help himself. He
repeated to himself the same thing time after time till his brain reeled.
It was inevitable that she should marry: life was hard for a girl who had
to earn her own living; and if she found someone who could give her a
comfortable home she should not be blamed if she accepted. Philip
acknowledged that from her point of view it would have been madness to
marry him: only love could have made such poverty bearable, and she did
not love him. It was no fault of hers; it was a fact that must be accepted
like any other. Philip tried to reason with himself. He told himself that
deep down in his heart was mortified pride; his passion had begun in
wounded vanity, and it was this at bottom which caused now a great part of
his wretchedness. He despised himself as much as he despised her. Then he
made plans for the future, the same plans over and over again, interrupted
by recollections of kisses on her soft pale cheek and by the sound of her
voice with its trailing accent; he had a great deal of work to do, since
in the summer he was taking chemistry as well as the two examinations he
had failed in. He had separated himself from his friends at the hospital,
but now he wanted companionship. There was one happy occurrence: Hayward
a fortnight before had written to say that he was passing through London
and had asked him to dinner; but Philip, unwilling to be bothered, had
refused. He was coming back for the season, and Philip made up his mind to
write to him.

He was thankful when eight o'clock struck and he could get up. He was pale
and weary. But when he had bathed, dressed, and had breakfast, he felt
himself joined up again with the world at large; and his pain was a little
easier to bear. He did not feel like going to lectures that morning, but
went instead to the Army and Navy Stores to buy Mildred a wedding-present.
After much wavering he settled on a dressing-bag. It cost twenty pounds,
which was much more than he could afford, but it was showy and vulgar: he
knew she would be aware exactly how much it cost; he got a melancholy
satisfaction in choosing a gift which would give her pleasure and at the
same time indicate for himself the contempt he had for her.

P