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upon her quite differently; there was something softly femi-
nine in her large eyes and her olive skin; he felt himself a
fool not to have seen that she was attractive. He thought he
detected in her a touch of contempt for him, because he had
not had the sense to see that she was there, in his way, and in
Lawson a suspicion of superiority. He was envious of Law-
son, and he was jealous, not of the individual concerned, but
of his love. He wished that he was standing in his shoes and
feeling with his heart. He was troubled, and the fear seized
him that love would pass him by. He wanted a passion to
seize him, he wanted to be swept off his feet and borne pow-
erless in a mighty rush he cared not whither. Miss Chalice
and Lawson seemed to him now somehow different, and the
constant companionship with them made him restless. He
was dissatisfied with himself. Life was not giving him what
he wanted, and he had an uneasy feeling that he was losing
his time.
The stout Frenchwoman soon guessed what the relations
were between the couple, and talked of the matter to Philip
with the utmost frankness.
‘And you,’ she said, with the tolerant smile of one who
had fattened on the lust of her fellows, ‘have you got a petite
amie?’
‘No,’ said Philip, blushing.
‘And why not? C’est de votre age.’
He shrugged his shoulders. He had a volume of Verlaine
in his hands, and he wandered off. He tried to read, but his
passion was too strong. He thought of the stray amours to
which he had been introduced by Flanagan, the sly visits

Of Human Bondage