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glove’—she repeated the stale metaphor with satisfaction—
‘like an old glove. All right, I don’t care, but I’m not going to
be made a fool of another time.’
There was a suspicion of truth in what she said, and it
made Philip angry enough to answer what first came into
his head.
‘Hang it all, I only asked your advice because I saw it
pleased you.’
She gave a gasp and threw him a sudden look of anguish.
Then two tears rolled down her cheeks. She looked frowsy
and grotesque. Philip, not knowing what on earth this new
attitude implied, went back to his work. He was uneasy and
conscience-stricken; but he would not go to her and say he
was sorry if he had caused her pain, because he was afraid
she would take the opportunity to snub him. For two or
three weeks she did not speak to him, and, after Philip had
got over the discomfort of being cut by her, he was some-
what relieved to be free from so difficult a friendship. He
had been a little disconcerted by the air of proprietorship
she assumed over him. She was an extraordinary wom-
an. She came every day to the studio at eight o’clock, and
was ready to start working when the model was in posi-
tion; she worked steadily, talking to no one, struggling hour
after hour with difficulties she could not overcome, and re-
mained till the clock struck twelve. Her work was hopeless.
There was not in it the smallest approach even to the medio-
cre achievement at which most of the young persons were
able after some months to arrive. She wore every day the
same ugly brown dress, with the mud of the last wet day

Of Human Bondage