He paused and looked at Philip with amusement.

“Look here, there’s only one thing you can do.  Write to her, and tell her the thing’s over.  Put it so that there can be no mistake about it.  It’ll hurt her, but it’ll hurt her less if you do the thing brutally than if you try half-hearted ways.”

Philip sat down and wrote the following letter: 

My dear Norah,

I am sorry to make you unhappy, but I think we had better let things remain where we left them on Saturday.  I don’t think there’s any use in letting these things drag on when they’ve ceased to be amusing.  You told me to go and I went.  I do not propose to come back.  Good-bye. 
                                                   Philip Carey.

He showed the letter to Griffiths and asked him what he thought of it.  Griffiths read it and looked at Philip with twinkling eyes.  He did not say what he felt.

“I think that’ll do the trick,” he said.

Philip went out and posted it.  He passed an uncomfortable morning, for he imagined with great detail what Norah would feel when she received his letter.  He tortured himself with the thought of her tears.  But at the same time he was relieved.  Imagined grief was more easy to bear than grief seen, and he was free now to love Mildred with all his soul.  His heart leaped at the thought of going to see her that afternoon, when his day’s work at the hospital was over.

When as usual he went back to his rooms to tidy himself, he had no sooner put the latch-key in his door than he heard a voice behind him.

“May I come in?  I’ve been waiting for you for half an hour.”

It was Norah.  He felt himself blush to the roots of his hair.  She spoke gaily.  There was no trace of resentment in her voice and nothing to indicate that there was a rupture between them.  He felt himself cornered.  He was sick with fear, but he did his best to smile.

“Yes, do,” he said.

He opened the door, and she preceded him into his sitting-room.  He was nervous and, to give himself countenance, offered her a cigarette and lit one for himself.  She looked at him brightly.

“Why did you write me such a horrid letter, you naughty boy?  If I’d taken it seriously it would have made me perfectly wretched.”

“It was meant seriously,” he answered gravely.

“Don’t be so silly.  I lost my temper the other day, and I wrote and apologised.  You weren’t satisfied, so I’ve come here to apologise again.  After all, you’re your own master and I have no claims upon you.  I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to.”

She got up from the chair in which she was sitting and went towards him impulsively, with outstretched hands.

“Let’s make friends again, Philip.  I’m so sorry if I offended you.”

He could not prevent her from taking his hands, but he could not look at her.

“I’m afraid it’s too late,” he said.