to wash your hands?"

She did not answer him.

"Why don't you come and dine with us?" she said to Griffiths.

He looked at Philip and saw him staring at him sombrely.

"I dined with you last night," he laughed. "I should be in the way."

"Oh, that doesn't matter," insisted Mildred. "Make him come, Philip. He
won't be in the way, will he?"

"Let him come by all means if he'd like to."

"All right, then," said Griffiths promptly. "I'll just go upstairs and
tidy myself."

The moment he left the room Philip turned to Mildred angrily.

"Why on earth did you ask him to dine with us?"

"I couldn't help myself. It would have looked so funny to say nothing when
he said he wasn't doing anything."

"Oh, what rot! And why the hell did you ask him if he was doing anything?"

Mildred's pale lips tightened a little.

"I want a little amusement sometimes. I get tired always being alone with
you."

They heard Griffiths coming heavily down the stairs, and Philip went into
his bed-room to wash. They dined in the neighbourhood in an Italian
restaurant. Philip was cross and silent, but he quickly realised that he
was showing to disadvantage in comparison with Griffiths, and he forced
himself to hide his annoyance. He drank a good deal of wine to destroy the
pain that was gnawing at his heart, and he set himself to talk. Mildred,
as though remorseful for what she had said, did all she could to make
herself pleasant to him. She was kindly and affectionate. Presently Philip
began to think he had been a fool to surrender to a feeling of jealousy.
After dinner when they got into a hansom to drive to a music-hall Mildred,
sitting between the two men, of her own accord gave him her hand. His
anger vanished. Suddenly, he knew not how, he grew conscious that
Griffiths was holding her other hand. The pain seized him again violently,
it was a real physical pain, and he asked himself, panic-stricken, what he
might have asked himself before, whether Mildred and Griffiths were in
love with one another. He could not see anything of the performance on
account of the mist of suspicion, anger, dismay, and wretchedness which
seemed to be before his eyes; but he forced himself to conceal the fact
that anything was the matter; he went on talking and laughing. Then a
strange desire to torture himself seized him, and he got up, saying he
wanted to go and drink something. Mildred and Griffiths had never been
alone together for a moment. He wanted