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rowing with her on the river on Sundays; he would take her
to Greenwich, he had never forgotten that delightful excur-
sion with Hayward, and the beauty of the Port of London
remained a permanent treasure in his recollection; and on
the warm summer afternoons they would sit in the Park to-
gether and talk: he laughed to himself as he remembered
her gay chatter, which poured out like a brook bubbling
over little stones, amusing, flippant, and full of character.
The agony he had suffered would pass from his mind like a
bad dream.
But when next day, about tea-time, an hour at which he
was pretty certain to find Norah at home, he knocked at her
door his courage suddenly failed him. Was it possible for
her to forgive him? It would be abominable of him to force
himself on her presence. The door was opened by a maid
new since he had been in the habit of calling every day, and
he inquired if Mrs. Nesbit was in.
‘Will you ask her if she could see Mr. Carey?’ he said. ‘I’ll
wait here.’
The maid ran upstairs and in a moment clattered down
again.
‘Will you step up, please, sir. Second floor front.’
‘I know,’ said Philip, with a slight smile.
He went with a fluttering heart. He knocked at the door.
‘Come in,’ said the well-known, cheerful voice.
It seemed to say come in to a new life of peace and happi-
ness. When he entered Norah stepped forward to greet him.
She shook hands with him as if they had parted the day be-
fore. A man stood up.

Of Human Bondage