When she first came to live in the little rooms in Kennington she was tired out and ashamed.  She was glad to be left alone.  It was a comfort to think that there was no rent to pay; she need not go out in all weathers, and she could lie quietly in bed if she did not feel well.  She had hated the life she led.  It was horrible to have to be affable and subservient; and even now when it crossed her mind she cried with pity for herself as she thought of the roughness of men and their brutal language.  But it crossed her mind very seldom.  She was grateful to Philip for coming to her rescue, and when she remembered how honestly he had loved her and how badly she had treated him, she felt a pang of remorse.  It was easy to make it up to him.  It meant very little to her.  She was surprised when he refused her suggestion, but she shrugged her shoulders:  let him put on airs if he liked, she did not care, he would be anxious enough in a little while, and then it would be her turn to refuse; if he thought it was any deprivation to her he was very much mistaken.  She had no doubt of her power over him.  He was peculiar, but she knew him through and through.  He had so often quarrelled with her and sworn he would never see her again, and then in a little while he had come on his knees begging to be forgiven.  It gave her a thrill to think how he had cringed before her.  He would have been glad to lie down on the ground for her to walk on him.  She had seen him cry.  She knew exactly how to treat him, pay no attention to him, just pretend you didn’t notice his tempers, leave him severely alone, and in a little while he was sure to grovel.  She laughed a little to herself, good-humouredly, when she thought how he had come and eaten dirt before her.  She had had her fling now.  She knew what men were and did not want to have anything more to do with them.  She was quite ready to settle down with Philip.  When all was said, he was a gentleman in every sense of the word, and that was something not to be sneezed at, wasn’t it?  Anyhow she was in no hurry, and she was not going to take the first step.  She was glad to see how fond he was growing of the baby, though it tickled her a good deal; it was comic that he should set so much store on another man’s child.  He was peculiar and no mistake.

But one or two things surprised her.  She had been used to his subservience:  he was only too glad to do anything for her in the old days, she was accustomed to see him cast down by a cross word and in ecstasy at a kind one; he was different now, and she said to herself that he had not improved in the last year.  It never struck her for a moment that there could be any change in his feelings, and she thought it was only acting when he paid no heed to her bad temper.  He wanted to read sometimes and told her to stop talking:  she did not know whether to flare up or to sulk, and was so puzzled that she did neither.  Then came the conversation in which he told her that he intended their relations to be