Philip took a sudden determination.
"I think I'd better tell you, I don't want you to think too badly of me,
I want you to see that I can't help myself.
Mildred's come back."
The colour came to her face.
"Why didn't you tell me at once?
I deserved that surely."
"I was afraid to."
She looked at herself in the glass and set her hat straight.
"Will you call me a cab," she said. "I don't feel I can walk."
He went to the door and stopped a passing hansom; but when she followed him into the street he was startled to see how white she was.
There was a heaviness in her movements as though she had suddenly grown older.
She looked so ill that he had not the heart to let her go alone.
"I'll drive back with you if you don't mind."
She did not answer, and he got into the cab.
They drove along in silence over the bridge, through shabby streets in which children, with shrill cries, played in the road.
When they arrived at her door she did not immediately get out.
It seemed as though she could not summon enough strength to her legs to move.
"I hope you'll forgive me, Norah," he said.
She turned her eyes towards him, and he saw that they were bright again with tears, but she forced a smile to her lips.
"Poor fellow, you're quite worried about me.
You mustn't bother.
I don't blame you.
I shall get over it all right."
Lightly and quickly she stroked his face to show him that she bore no ill-feeling, the gesture was scarcely more than suggested; then she jumped out of the cab and let herself into her house.
Philip paid the hansom and walked to Mildred's lodgings.
There was a curious heaviness in his heart.
He was inclined to reproach himself.
But why?
He did not know what else he could have done.
Passing a fruiterer's, he remembered that Mildred was fond of grapes.
He was so grateful that he could show his love for her by recollecting every whim she had.
LXXII
For the next three months Philip went every day to see Mildred.
He took his books with him and after tea worked, while Mildred lay on the sofa reading novels.
Sometimes he would look up and watch her for a minute.
A happy smile crossed his lips.
She would feel his eyes upon her.
"Don't waste your time looking at me, silly.
Go on with your work," she said.
"Tyrant," he answered gaily.
He put aside his book when the landlady came in to lay the cloth for dinner, and in his high spirits he exchanged chaff with her.
She was a little cockney, of middle age, with an amusing humour and a quick tongue.
Mildred had become great friends with her and had given her an elaborate but mendacious account of the circumstances which had brought her to the pass she was in.
The good-hearted little woman was touched and found no trouble too great to make Mildred comfortable.
Mildred's sense of propriety had suggested that Philip should pass himself off as her brother.
They dined together, and Philip was delighted when he had ordered something which tempted Mildred's capricious appetite.
It enchanted him to see her sitting opposite him, and every now and then from sheer joy he took her hand and pressed it.
After dinner she sat in the arm-chair by the fire, and he settled himself down on the floor beside her, leaning against her knees, and smoked.
Often they did not talk at all, and sometimes Philip noticed that she had fallen into a doze.