Next morning Mildred was sulky and taciturn. She remained in her room till
it was time to get the dinner ready. She was a bad cook and could do
little more than chops and steaks; and she did not know how to use up odds
and ends, so that Philip was obliged to spend more money than he had
expected. When she served up she sat down opposite Philip, but would eat
nothing; he remarked on it; she said she had a bad headache and was not
hungry. He was glad that he had somewhere to spend the rest of the day; the Athelnys were cheerful and friendly. It was a delightful and an unexpected thing to realise that everyone in that household looked forward with pleasure to his visit. Mildred had gone to bed when he came back, but next day she was still silent. At supper she sat with a haughty expression on her face and a little frown between her eyes. It made Philip impatient, but he told himself that he must be considerate to her; he was bound to make allowance.
"You're very silent," he said, with a pleasant smile.
"I'm paid to cook and clean, I didn't know I was expected to talk as
well."
He thought it an ungracious answer, but if they were going to live
together he must do all he could to make things go easily.
"I'm afraid you're cross with me about the other night," he said.
It was an awkward thing to speak about, but apparently it was necessary to
discuss it.
"I don't know what you mean," she answered.
"Please don't be angry with me. I should never have asked you to come and
live here if I'd not meant our relations to be merely friendly. I
suggested it because I thought you wanted a home and you would have a
chance of looking about for something to do."
"Oh, don't think I care."
"I don't for a moment," he hastened to say. "You mustn't think I'm
ungrateful. I realise that you only proposed it for my sake. It's just a
feeling I have, and I can't help it, it would make the whole thing ugly
and horrid."
"You are funny" she said, looking at him curiously. "I can't make you
out."
She was not angry with him now, but puzzled; she had no idea what he
meant: she accepted the situation, she had indeed a vague feeling that he
was behaving in a very noble fashion and that she ought to admire it; but
also she felt inclined to laugh at him and perhaps even to despise him a
little.
"He's a rum customer," she thought.
Life went smoothly enough with them. Philip spent all day at the hospital
and worked at home in the evening except when he went to the Athelnys' or
to the tavern in Beak Street. Once the physician for whom he clerked asked
him to a solemn dinner, and two or three times he went to parties given by
fellow-students. Mildred accepted the monotony of her life. If she minded
that Philip left her sometimes by herself in the evening she never
mentioned it. Occasionally he took her to a music hall. He carried out his
intention that the only tie between them should be the domestic service
she did in return for board and lodging. She had made up her mind that it
was no use trying to get work that summer, and with Philip's approval
determined to stay where she was till the autumn. She thought it would be
easy to get something to do then.
"As far as I'm concerned you can stay on here when you've got a job if
it's convenient. The room's there, and the woman who did for me before can
come in to look after the baby."
He grew very much attached to Mildred's child. He had a naturally
affectionate disposition, which had had little opportunity to display
itself. Mildred was not unkind to the little girl. She looked after her
very well and once when she had a bad cold proved herself a devoted nurse; but the child bored her, and she spoke to her sharply when she bothered; she was fond of her, but had not the maternal passion which might have induced her to forget herself. Mildred had no demonstrativeness, and she found the manifestations of affection ridiculous. When Philip sat with the baby on his knees, playing with it and kissing it, she laughed at him.
"You couldn't make more fuss of her if you was her father," she said. "You're perfectly silly with the child."
Philip flushed, for he hated to be laughed at. It was absurd to be so
devoted to another man's baby, and he was a little ashamed of the
overflowing of his heart. But the child, feeling Philip's attachment, would put her face against his or nestle in his arms.