nd bought a few flowers to take in to Mildred.

The little dinner was a great success. Philip had sent in a small pot of
caviare, which he knew she was very fond of, and the landlady brought them
up some cutlets with vegetables and a sweet. Philip had ordered Burgundy,
which was her favourite wine. With the curtains drawn, a bright fire, and
one of Mildred's shades on the lamp, the room was cosy.

"It's really just like home," smiled Philip.

"I might be worse off, mightn't I?" she answered.

When they finished, Philip drew two arm-chairs in front of the fire, and
they sat down. He smoked his pipe comfortably. He felt happy and generous.

"What would you like to do tomorrow?" he asked.

"Oh, I'm going to Tulse Hill. You remember the manageress at the shop,
well, she's married now, and she's asked me to go and spend the day with
her. Of course she thinks I'm married too."

Philip's heart sank.

"But I refused an invitation so that I might spend Sunday with you."

He thought that if she loved him she would say that in that case she would
stay with him. He knew very well that Norah would not have hesitated.

"Well, you were a silly to do that. I've promised to go for three weeks
and more."

"But how can you go alone?"

"Oh, I shall say that Emil's away on business. Her husband's in the glove
trade, and he's a very superior fellow."

Philip was silent, and bitter feelings passed through his heart. She gave
him a sidelong glance.

"You don't grudge me a little pleasure, Philip? You see, it's the last
time I shall be able to go anywhere for I don't know how long, and I had
promised."

He took her hand and smiled.

"No, darling, I want you to have the best time you can. I only want you to
be happy."

There was a little book bound in blue paper lying open, face downwards, on
the sofa, and Philip idly took it up. It was a twopenny novelette, and the
author was Courtenay Paget. That was the name under which Norah wrote.

"I do like his books," said Mildred. "I read them all. They're so
refined."

He remembered what Norah had said of herself.

"I have an immense popularity among kitchen-maids. They think me so
genteel."

LXXI

Philip, in return for Griffiths' confidences, had told him the details of
his own complicated amours, and on Sunday morning, after breakfast when
they sat by the fire in their dressing-gowns and smoked, he recounted the
scene of the previous day. Griffiths congratulated him