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‘I’ve not seen her since we took her down to Brighton.’
‘Where shall I put her? She’s so heavy I can’t carry her
very long.’
‘I’m afraid I haven’t got a cradle,’ said Philip, with a ner-
vous laugh.
‘Oh, she’ll sleep with me. She always does.’
Mildred put the baby in an arm-chair and looked round
the room. She recognised most of the things which she had
known in his old diggings. Only one thing was new, a head
and shoulders of Philip which Lawson had painted at the
end of the preceding summer; it hung over the chimney-
piece; Mildred looked at it critically.
‘In some ways I like it and in some ways I don’t. I think
you’re better looking than that.’
‘Things are looking up,’ laughed Philip. ‘You’ve never
told me I was good-looking before.’
‘I’m not one to worry myself about a man’s looks. I don’t
like good-looking men. They’re too conceited for me.’
Her eyes travelled round the room in an instinctive
search for a looking-glass, but there was none; she put up
her hand and patted her large fringe.
‘What’ll the other people in the house say to my being
here?’ she asked suddenly.
‘Oh, there’s only a man and his wife living here. He’s out
all day, and I never see her except on Saturday to pay my
rent. They keep entirely to themselves. I’ve not spoken two
words to either of them since I came.’
Mildred went into the bedroom to undo her things and
put them away. Philip tried to read, but his spirits were too