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and uncleaned; a hat was on the chest of drawers, with false
curls beside it; and there was a blouse on the table. Philip
looked for somewhere to put his hat. The hooks behind the
door were laden with skirts, and he noticed that they were
muddy at the hem.
‘Sit down, won’t you?’ she said. Then she gave a little awk-
ward laugh. ‘I suppose you were surprised to hear from me
again.’
‘You’re awfully hoarse,’ he answered. ‘Have you got a sore
throat?’
‘Yes, I have had for some time.’
He did not say anything. He waited for her to explain
why she wanted to see him. The look of the room told him
clearly enough that she had gone back to the life from which
he had taken her. He wondered what had happened to the
baby; there was a photograph of it on the chimney-piece,
but no sign in the room that a child was ever there. Mildred
was holding her handkerchief. She made it into a little ball,
and passed it from hand to hand. He saw that she was very
nervous. She was staring at the fire, and he could look at
her without meeting her eyes. She was much thinner than
when she had left him; and the skin, yellow and dryish, was
drawn more tightly over her cheekbones. She had dyed her
hair and it was now flaxen: it altered her a good deal, and
made her look more vulgar.
‘I was relieved to get your letter, I can tell you,’ she said at
last. ‘I thought p’raps you weren’t at the ‘ospital any more.’
Philip did not speak.
‘I suppose you’re qualified by now, aren’t you?’

Of Human Bondage