“I’m an awful fool at books,” he said cheerfully, “but I can’t work.”

Life was much too jolly.  But it was clear that when he had got through the exuberance of his youth, and was at last qualified, he would be a tremendous success in practice.  He would cure people by the sheer charm of his manner.

Philip worshipped him as at school he had worshipped boys who were tall and straight and high of spirits.  By the time he was well they were fast friends, and it was a peculiar satisfaction to Philip that Griffiths seemed to enjoy sitting in his little parlour, wasting Philip’s time with his amusing chatter and smoking innumerable cigarettes.  Philip took him sometimes to the tavern off Regent Street.  Hayward found him stupid, but Lawson recognised his charm and was eager to paint him; he was a picturesque figure with his blue eyes, white skin, and curly hair.  Often they discussed things he knew nothing about, and then he sat quietly, with a good-natured smile on his handsome face, feeling quite rightly that his presence was sufficient contribution to the entertainment of the company.  When he discovered that Macalister was a stockbroker he was eager for tips; and Macalister, with his grave smile, told him what fortunes he could have made if he had bought certain stock at certain times.  It made Philip’s mouth water, for in one way and another he was spending more than he had expected, and it would have suited him very well to make a little money by the easy method Macalister suggested.

“Next time I hear of a really good thing I’ll let you know,” said the stockbroker.  “They do come along sometimes.  It’s only a matter of biding one’s time.”

Philip could not help thinking how delightful it would be to make fifty pounds, so that he could give Norah the furs she so badly needed for the winter.  He looked at the shops in Regent Street and picked out the articles he could buy for the money.  She deserved everything.  She made his life very happy.

LXIX

One afternoon, when he went back to his rooms from the hospital to wash and tidy himself before going to tea as usual with Norah, as he let himself in with his latch-key, his landlady opened the door for him.

“There’s a lady waiting to see you,” she said.

“Me?” exclaimed Philip.

He was surprised.  It would only be Norah, and he had no idea what had brought her.

“I shouldn’t ’ave let her in, only she’s been three times, and she seemed that upset at not finding you, so I told her she could wait.”

He pushed past the explaining landlady and burst into the room.  His heart turned sick.  It was Mildred.  She was sitting down, but got up hurriedly as he came in.  She did not move towards him nor speak.  He was so surprised that he did not know what he was saying.

“What the hell d’you want?” he asked.

She did not answer, but began to cry.  She did not put her hands to her eyes, but kept them hanging by the side of her body.  She looked like a housemaid applying for a situation.  There was a dreadful humility in her bearing.  Philip did not know what feelings came over him.  He had a sudden impulse to turn round and escape from the room.