crifice anyone to his appetites. And how
inane was the life he led, lounging about bars and drinking in music
halls, wandering from one light amour to another! He never read a book, he
was blind to everything that was not frivolous and vulgar; he had never a
thought that was fine: the word most common on his lips was smart; that
was his highest praise for man or woman. Smart! It was no wonder he
pleased Mildred. They suited one another.

Philip talked to Mildred of things that mattered to neither of them. He
knew she wanted to speak of Griffiths, but he gave her no opportunity. He
did not refer to the fact that two evenings before she had put off dining
with him on a trivial excuse. He was casual with her, trying to make her
think he was suddenly grown indifferent; and he exercised peculiar skill
in saying little things which he knew would wound her; but which were so
indefinite, so delicately cruel, that she could not take exception to
them. At last she got up.

"I think I must be going off now," she said.

"I daresay you've got a lot to do," he answered.

She held out her hand, he took it, said good-bye, and opened the door for
her. He knew what she wanted to speak about, and he knew also that his
cold, ironical air intimidated her. Often his shyness made him seem so
frigid that unintentionally he frightened people, and, having discovered
this, he was able when occasion arose to assume the same manner.

"You haven't forgotten what you promised?" she said at last, as he held
open the door.

"What is that?"

"About the money."

"How much d'you want?"

He spoke with an icy deliberation which made his words peculiarly
offensive. Mildred flushed. He knew she hated him at that moment, and he
wondered at the self-control by which she prevented herself from flying
out at him. He wanted to make her suffer.

"There's the dress and the book tomorrow. That's all. Harry won't come, so
we shan't want money for that."

Philip's heart gave a great thud against his ribs, and he let the door
handle go. The door swung to.

"Why not?"

"He says we couldn't, not on your money."

A devil seized Philip, a devil of self-torture which was always lurking
within him, and, though with all his soul he wished that Griffiths and
Mildred should not go away together, he could not help himself; he set
himself to persuade Griffiths through her.

"I don't see why not, if I'm willing," he said.

"That's what I told him."

"I should