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with you,’ said Mildred aggressively.
‘Don’t let’s quarrel, Mildred,’ he said gently.
‘I didn’t know you was so well off you could afford to
throw away a pound a week.’
‘Don’t be angry with me. I assure you it’s the only way we
can live together at all.’
‘I suppose you despise me, that’s it.’
‘Of course I don’t. Why should I?’
‘It’s so unnatural.’
‘Is it? You’re not in love with me, are you?’
‘Me? Who d’you take me for?’
‘It’s not as if you were a very passionate woman, you’re
not that.’
‘It’s so humiliating,’ she said sulkily.
‘Oh, I wouldn’t fuss about that if I were you.’
There were about a dozen people in the boarding-house.
They ate in a narrow, dark room at a long table, at the head
of which the landlady sat and carved. The food was bad. The
landlady called it French cooking, by which she meant that
the poor quality of the materials was disguised by ill-made
sauces: plaice masqueraded as sole and New Zealand mut-
ton as lamb. The kitchen was small and inconvenient, so
that everything was served up lukewarm. The people were
dull and pretentious; old ladies with elderly maiden daugh-
ters; funny old bachelors with mincing ways; pale-faced,
middle-aged clerks with wives, who talked of their married
daughters and their sons who were in a very good position
in the Colonies. At table they discussed Miss Corelli’s lat-
est novel; some of them liked Lord Leighton better than Mr.

Of Human Bondage