The next few days passed without incident.  Mildred settled down in her new surroundings.  When Philip hurried off after breakfast she had the whole morning to do the housework.  They ate very simply, but she liked to take a long time to buy the few things they needed; she could not be bothered to cook anything for her dinner, but made herself some cocoa and ate bread and butter; then she took the baby out in the gocart, and when she came in spent the rest of the afternoon in idleness.  She was tired out, and it suited her to do so little.  She made friends with Philip’s forbidding landlady over the rent, which he left with Mildred to pay, and within a week was able to tell him more about his neighbours than he had learned in a year.

“She’s a very nice woman,” said Mildred.  “Quite the lady.  I told her we was married.”

“D’you think that was necessary?”

“Well, I had to tell her something.  It looks so funny me being here and not married to you.  I didn’t know what she’d think of me.”

“I don’t suppose she believed you for a moment.”

“That she did, I lay.  I told her we’d been married two years—­I had to say that, you know, because of baby—­only your people wouldn’t hear of it, because you was only a student”—­she pronounced it stoodent—­“and so we had to keep it a secret, but they’d given way now and we were all going down to stay with them in the summer.”

“You’re a past mistress of the cock-and-bull story,” said Philip.

He was vaguely irritated that Mildred still had this passion for telling fibs.  In the last two years she had learnt nothing.  But he shrugged his shoulders.

“When all’s said and done,” he reflected, “she hasn’t had much chance.”

It was a beautiful evening, warm and cloudless, and the people of South London seemed to have poured out into the streets.  There was that restlessness in the air which seizes the cockney sometimes when a turn in the weather calls him into the open.  After Mildred had cleared away the supper she went and stood at the window.  The street noises came up to them, noises of people calling to one another, of the passing traffic, of a barrel-organ in the distance.

“I suppose you must work tonight, Philip?” she asked him, with a wistful expression.

“I ought, but I don’t know that I must.  Why, d’you want me to do anything else?”

“I’d like to go out for a bit.  Couldn’t we take a ride on the top of a tram?”

“If you like.”

“I’ll just go and put on my hat,” she said joyfully.

The night made it almost impossible to stay indoors.  The baby was asleep and could be safely left; Mildred said she had always left it alone at night when she went out; it never woke.  She was in high spirits when she came back with her hat on.  She had taken the opportunity to put on a little rouge.  Philip thought it was excitement which had brought a faint colour to her pale cheeks; he was touched by her child-like