He had suffered agonies when he thought of the despair he would suffer, he had thought of suicide, of the mad passion of anger that would seize him; but perhaps he had too completely anticipated the emotion he would experience, so that now he felt merely exhausted. He felt as one does in a serious illness when the vitality is so low that one is indifferent to the issue and wants only to be left alone.
"You see, I'm getting on," she said. "I'm twenty-four and it's time I settled down."
He was silent. He looked at the patronne sitting behind the counter, and his eye dwelt on a red feather one of the diners wore in her hat.
Mildred was nettled.
"You might congratulate me," she said.
"I might, mightn't I?
I can hardly believe it's true.
I've dreamt it so often.
It rather tickles me that I should have been so jolly glad that you asked me to take you out to dinner.
Whom are you going to marry?"
"Miller," she answered, with a slight blush.
"Miller?" cried Philip, astounded. "But you've not seen him for months."
"He came in to lunch one day last week and asked me then.
He's earning very good money.
He makes seven pounds a week now and he's got prospects."
Philip was silent again.
He remembered that she had always liked Miller; he amused her; there was in his foreign birth an exotic charm which she felt unconsciously.
"I suppose it was inevitable," he said at last. "You were bound to accept the highest bidder.
When are you going to marry?"
"On Saturday next.
I have given notice."
Philip felt a sudden pang.
"As soon as that?"
"We're going to be married at a registry office.
Emil prefers it."
Philip felt dreadfully tired.
He wanted to get away from her. He thought he would go straight to bed.
He called for the bill.
"I'll put you in a cab and send you down to Victoria.
I daresay you won't have to wait long for a train."
"Won't you come with me?"
"I think I'd rather not if you don't mind."
"It's just as you please," she answered haughtily. "I suppose I shall see you at tea-time tomorrow?"
"No, I think we'd better make a full stop now.
I don't see why I should go on making myself unhappy.
I've paid the cab."
He nodded to her and forced a smile on his lips, then jumped on a 'bus and made his way home.
He smoked a pipe before he went to bed, but he could hardly keep his eyes open.
He suffered no pain.
He fell into a heavy sleep almost as soon as his head touched the pillow.
LXIV
But about three in the morning Philip awoke and could not sleep again.
He began to think of Mildred.
He tried not to, but could not help himself.
He repeated to himself the same thing time after time till his brain reeled. It was inevitable that she should marry: life was hard for a girl who had to earn her own living; and if she found someone who could give her a comfortable home she should not be blamed if she accepted.
Philip acknowledged that from her point of view it would have been madness to marry him: only love could have made such poverty bearable, and she did not love him.
It was no fault of hers; it was a fact that must be accepted like any other.
Philip tried to reason with himself.
He told himself that deep down in his heart was mortified pride; his passion had begun in wounded vanity, and it was this at bottom which caused now a great part of his wretchedness.
He despised himself as much as he despised her.