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Philip always expressed his regret for what he had said, but
Mildred had not a forgiving nature, and she would sulk
for a couple of days. She got on his nerves in all sorts of
ways; by the manner in which she ate, and by the untidi-
ness which made her leave articles of clothing about their
sitting-room: Philip was excited by the war and devoured
the papers, morning and evening; but she took no interest
in anything that happened. She had made the acquaintance
of two or three people who lived in the street, and one of
them had asked if she would like the curate to call on her.
She wore a wedding-ring and called herself Mrs. Carey. On
Philip’s walls were two or three of the drawings which he
had made in Paris, nudes, two of women and one of Miguel
Ajuria, standing very square on his feet, with clenched fists.
Philip kept them because they were the best things he had
done, and they reminded him of happy days. Mildred had
long looked at them with disfavour.
‘I wish you’d take those drawings down, Philip,’ she said
to him at last. ‘Mrs. Foreman, of number thirteen, came in
yesterday afternoon, and I didn’t know which way to look. I
saw her staring at them.’
‘What’s the matter with them?’
‘They’re indecent. Disgusting, that’s what I call it, to have
drawings of naked people about. And it isn’t nice for baby
either. She’s beginning to notice things now.’
‘How can you be so vulgar?’
‘Vulgar? Modest, I call it. I’ve never said anything, but
d’you think I like having to look at those naked people all
day long.’

Of Human Bondage