rt was strangely troubled. His pulse beat quickly.

LXX

Philip expected to find a letter from Norah when he got back to his rooms,
but there was nothing; nor did he receive one the following morning. The
silence irritated and at the same time alarmed him. They had seen one
another every day he had been in London since the previous June; and it
must seem odd to her that he should let two days go by without visiting
her or offering a reason for his absence; he wondered whether by an
unlucky chance she had seen him with Mildred. He could not bear to think
that she was hurt or unhappy, and he made up his mind to call on her that
afternoon. He was almost inclined to reproach her because he had allowed
himself to get on such intimate terms with her. The thought of continuing
them filled him with disgust.

He found two rooms for Mildred on the second floor of a house in the
Vauxhall Bridge Road. They were noisy, but he knew that she liked the
rattle of traffic under her windows.

"I don't like a dead and alive street where you don't see a soul pass all
day," she said. "Give me a bit of life."

Then he forced himself to go to Vincent Square. He was sick with
apprehension when he rang the bell. He had an uneasy sense that he was
treating Norah badly; he dreaded reproaches; he knew she had a quick
temper, and he hated scenes: perhaps the best way would be to tell her
frankly that Mildred had come back to him and his love for her was as
violent as it had ever been; he was very sorry, but he had nothing to
offer Norah any more. Then he thought of her anguish, for he knew she
loved him; it had flattered him before, and he was immensely grateful; but
now it was horrible. She had not deserved that he should inflict pain upon
her. He asked himself how she would greet him now, and as he walked up the
stairs all possible forms of her behaviour flashed across his mind. He
knocked at the door. He felt that he was pale, and wondered how to conceal
his nervousness.

She was writing away industriously, but she sprang to her feet as he
entered.

"I recognised your step," she cried. "Where have you been hiding yourself,
you naughty boy?"

She came towards him joyfully and put her arms round his neck. She was
delighted to see him. He kissed her, and then, to give himself
countenance, said he was dying for tea. She bustled the fire to make the
kettle boil.

"I've been awfully busy," he said lamely.

She began to chatter in her