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the rent and the cleaning by the concierge would come to
a little more, they would save on the petit dejeuner, which
they could make themselves. A year or two earlier Philip
would have refused to share a room with anyone, since he
was so sensitive about his deformed foot, but his morbid
way of looking at it was growing less marked: in Paris it did
not seem to matter so much, and, though he never by any
chance forgot it himself, he ceased to feel that other people
were constantly noticing it.
They moved in, bought a couple of beds, a washing-stand,
a few chairs, and felt for the first time the thrill of possession.
They were so excited that the first night they went to bed
in what they could call a home they lay awake talking till
three in the morning; and next day found lighting the fire
and making their own coffee, which they had in pyjamas,
such a jolly business that Philip did not get to Amitrano’s
till nearly eleven. He was in excellent spirits. He nodded to
Fanny Price.
‘How are you getting on?’ he asked cheerily.
‘What does that matter to you?’ she asked in reply.
Philip could not help laughing.
‘Don’t jump down my throat. I was only trying to make
myself polite.’
‘I don’t want your politeness.’
‘D’you think it’s worth while quarrelling with me too?’
asked Philip mildly. ‘There are so few people you’re on
speaking terms with, as it is.’
‘That’s my business, isn’t it?’
‘Quite.’

Of Human Bondage