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fat and rosy.’
‘I don’t want to get fat,’ she said.
She did not speak of Griffiths, and presently while they
were dining Philip half in malice, for he felt sure of himself
and his power over her, said:
‘It seems to me you were having a great flirtation with
Harry last night?’
‘I told you I was in love with him,’ she laughed.
‘I’m glad to know that he’s not in love with you.’
‘How d’you know?’
‘I asked him.’
She hesitated a moment, looking at Philip, and a curious
gleam came into her eyes.
‘Would you like to read a letter I had from him this
morning?’
She handed him an envelope and Philip recognised
Griffiths’ bold, legible writing. There were eight pages. It
was well written, frank and charming; it was the letter of a
man who was used to making love to women. He told Mil-
dred that he loved her passionately, he had fallen in love
with her the first moment he saw her; he did not want to
love her, for he knew how fond Philip was of her, but he
could not help himself. Philip was such a dear, and he was
very much ashamed of himself, but it was not his fault, he
was just carried away. He paid her delightful compliments.
Finally he thanked her for consenting to lunch with him
next day and said he was dreadfully impatient to see her.
Philip noticed that the letter was dated the night before;
Griffiths must have written it after leaving Philip, and had

Of Human Bondage