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She had never called him Phil before, that was what
Griffiths called him; and even now it gave him a curious
pang. He remembered how much he had wanted to die
then; his pain had been so great that he had thought quite
seriously of committing suicide. It all seemed very long ago.
He smiled at his past self. Now he felt nothing for Mildred
but infinite pity. They reached the house, and when they got
into the sitting-room Philip lit the gas.
‘Is the baby all right?’ he asked.
‘I’ll just go in and see.’
When she came back it was to say that it had not stirred
since she left it. It was a wonderful child. Philip held out his
hand.
‘Well, good-night.’
‘D’you want to go to bed already?’
‘It’s nearly one. I’m not used to late hours these days,’ said
Philip.
She took his hand and holding it looked into his eyes
with a little smile.
‘Phil, the other night in that room, when you asked me
to come and stay here, I didn’t mean what you thought I
meant, when you said you didn’t want me to be anything to
you except just to cook and that sort of thing.’
‘Didn’t you?’ answered Philip, withdrawing his hand. ‘I
did.’
‘Don’t be such an old silly,’ she laughed.
He shook his head.
‘I meant it quite seriously. I shouldn’t have asked you to
stay here on any other condition.’

Of Human Bondage