feeling. He had an impulse to throw himself on his knees and seize her
hands and beg her not to go; but he knew there was no way of moving her;
she would tell Griffiths what he had said and how he acted. He was
ashamed.

"Well, how about the little jaunt?" he said gaily.

"We're going. Harry's outside. I told him you didn't want to see him, so
he's kept out of your way. But he wants to know if he can come in just for
a minute to say good-bye to you."

"No, I won't see him," said Philip.

He could see she did not care if he saw Griffiths or not. Now that she was
there he wanted her to go quickly.

"Look here, here's the fiver. I'd like you to go now."

She took it and thanked him. She turned to leave the room.

"When are you coming back?" he asked.

"Oh, on Monday. Harry must go home then."

He knew what he was going to say was humiliating, but he was broken down
with jealousy and desire.

"Then I shall see you, shan't I?"

He could not help the note of appeal in his voice.

"Of course. I'll let you know the moment I'm back."

He shook hands with her. Through the curtains he watched her jump into a
four-wheeler that stood at the door. It rolled away. Then he threw himself
on his bed and hid his face in his hands. He felt tears coming to his
eyes, and he was angry with himself; he clenched his hands and screwed up
his body to prevent them; but he could not; and great painful sobs were
forced from him.

He got up at last, exhausted and ashamed, and washed his face. He mixed
himself a strong whiskey and soda. It made him feel a little better. Then
he caught sight of the tickets to Paris, which were on the chimney-piece,
and, seizing them, with an impulse of rage he flung them in the fire. He
knew he could have got the money back on them, but it relieved him to
destroy them. Then he went out in search of someone to be with. The club
was empty. He felt he would go mad unless he found someone to talk to; but
Lawson was abroad; he went on to Hayward's rooms: the maid who opened the
door told him that he had gone down to Brighton for the week-end. Then
Philip went to a gallery and found it was just closing. He did not know
what to do. He was distracted. And he thought of Griffiths and Mildred
going to Oxford, sitting opposite one another in the train, happy. He went
back to his rooms, but they filled him with horror, he had been so
wretched in them; he tried once more to read Burton's book, but, as he
read, he