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could not tell her the brutal truth. She made some toast for
him, and cut it into little pieces, and gave it him as though
he were a child.
‘Is the brute fed?’ she asked.
He nodded, smiling; and she lit a cigarette for him. Then,
as she loved to do, she came and sat on his knees. She was
very light. She leaned back in his arms with a sigh of deli-
cious happiness.
‘Say something nice to me,’ she murmured.
‘What shall I say?’
‘You might by an effort of imagination say that you rather
liked me.’
‘You know I do that.’
He had not the heart to tell her then. He would give her
peace at all events for that day, and perhaps he might write
to her. That would be easier. He could not bear to think of
her crying. She made him kiss her, and as he kissed her he
thought of Mildred and Mildred’s pale, thin lips. The rec-
ollection of Mildred remained with him all the time, like
an incorporated form, but more substantial than a shadow;
and the sight continually distracted his attention.
‘You’re very quiet today,’ Norah said.
Her loquacity was a standing joke between them, and he
answered:
‘You never let me get a word in, and I’ve got out of the
habit of talking.’
‘But you’re not listening, and that’s bad manners.’
He reddened a little, wondering whether she had some
inkling of his secret; he turned away his eyes uneasily. The

0 Of Human Bondage