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himself into the Thames. They fished him out and brought
him here, and ten days later he developed typhoid fever
from swallowing Thames water.’
‘Did he die?’
‘Yes, he did all right. I could never make up my mind if it
was suicide or not.... They’re a funny lot, suicides. I remem-
ber one man who couldn’t get any work to do and his wife
died, so he pawned his clothes and bought a revolver; but
he made a mess of it, he only shot out an eye and he got all
right. And then, if you please, with an eye gone and a piece
of his face blow away, he came to the conclusion that the
world wasn’t such a bad place after all, and he lived hap-
pily ever afterwards. Thing I’ve always noticed, people don’t
commit suicide for love, as you’d expect, that’s just a fancy
of novelists; they commit suicide because they haven’t got
any money. I wonder why that is.’
‘I suppose money’s more important than love,’ suggested
Philip.
Money was in any case occupying Philip’s thoughts
a good deal just then. He discovered the little truth there
was in the airy saying which himself had repeated, that two
could live as cheaply as one, and his expenses were begin-
ning to worry him. Mildred was not a good manager, and
it cost them as much to live as if they had eaten in restau-
rants; the child needed clothes, and Mildred boots, an
umbrella, and other small things which it was impossible
for her to do without. When they returned from Brighton
she had announced her intention of getting a job, but she
took no definite steps, and presently a bad cold laid her up

Of Human Bondage