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CVI

hilip avoided the places he had known in happier times.
PThe little gatherings at the tavern in Beak Street were
broken up: Macalister, having let down his friends, no lon-
ger went there, and Hayward was at the Cape. Only Lawson
remained; and Philip, feeling that now the painter and
he had nothing in common, did not wish to see him; but
one Saturday afternoon, after dinner, having changed his
clothes he walked down Regent Street to go to the free li-
brary in St. Martin’s Lane, meaning to spend the afternoon
there, and suddenly found himself face to face with him.
His first instinct was to pass on without a word, but Lawson
did not give him the opportunity.
‘Where on earth have you been all this time?’ he cried.
‘I?’ said Philip.
‘I wrote you and asked you to come to the studio for a
beano and you never even answered.’
‘I didn’t get your letter.’
‘No, I know. I went to the hospital to ask for you, and I
saw my letter in the rack. Have you chucked the Medical?’
Philip hesitated for a moment. He was ashamed to tell
the truth, but the shame he felt angered him, and he forced
himself to speak. He could not help reddening.
‘Yes, I lost the little money I had. I couldn’t afford to go
on with it.’

Of Human Bondage