She did not answer, but tears rolled heavily down her cheeks.  Philip knew from his experience at the hospital that women of her class looked upon service as degrading:  he could not help feeling a little impatient with her; but he blamed himself, for it was clear that she was tired and ill.  He got up and helped her to lay another place at the table.  The baby was awake now, and Mildred had prepared some Mellin’s Food for it.  The liver and bacon were ready and they sat down.  For economy’s sake Philip had given up drinking anything but water, but he had in the house a half a bottle of whiskey, and he thought a little would do Mildred good.  He did his best to make the supper pass cheerfully, but Mildred was subdued and exhausted.  When they had finished she got up to put the baby to bed.

“I think you’ll do well to turn in early yourself,” said Philip.  “You look absolute done up.”

“I think I will after I’ve washed up.”

Philip lit his pipe and began to read.  It was pleasant to hear somebody moving about in the next room.  Sometimes his loneliness had oppressed him.  Mildred came in to clear the table, and he heard the clatter of plates as she washed up.  Philip smiled as he thought how characteristic it was of her that she should do all that in a black silk dress.  But he had work to do, and he brought his book up to the table.  He was reading Osler’s Medicine, which had recently taken the place in the students’ favour of Taylor’s work, for many years the text-book most in use.  Presently Mildred came in, rolling down her sleeves.  Philip gave her a casual glance, but did not move; the occasion was curious, and he felt a little nervous.  He feared that Mildred might imagine he was going to make a nuisance of himself, and he did not quite know how without brutality to reassure her.

“By the way, I’ve got a lecture at nine, so I should want breakfast at a quarter past eight.  Can you manage that?”

“Oh, yes.  Why, when I was in Parliament Street I used to catch the eight-twelve from Herne Hill every morning.”

“I hope you’ll find your room comfortable.  You’ll be a different woman tomorrow after a long night in bed.”

“I suppose you work till late?”

“I generally work till about eleven or half-past.”

“I’ll say good-night then.”

“Good-night.”

The table was between them.  He did not offer to shake hands with her.  She shut the door quietly.  He heard her moving about in the bed-room, and in a little while he heard the creaking of the bed as she got in.

XCII

The following day was Tuesday.  Philip as usual hurried through his breakfast and dashed off to get to his lecture at nine.  He had only time to exchange a few words with Mildred.  When he came back in the evening he found her seated at the window, darning his socks.

“I say, you are industrious,” he smiled.  “What have you been doing with yourself all day?”