Chapter 102
She gave a laugh and handed him a telegram.
"I was only having a joke with you. I opened it."
He tore it out of her hands. Macalister had bought him two hundred and fifty shares and sold them at the half-crown profit he had suggested. The commission note was to follow next day. For one moment Philip was furious with Mildred for her cruel jest, but then he could only think of his joy.
"It makes such a difference to me," he cried. "I'll stand you a new dress if you like."
"I want it badly enough," she answered.
"I'll tell you what I'm going to do. I'm going to be operated upon at the end of July."
"Why, have you got something the matter with you?" she interrupted.
It struck her that an illness she did not know might explain what had so much puzzled her. He flushed, for he hated to refer to his deformity.
"No, but they think they can do something to my foot. I couldn't spare the time before, but now it doesn't matter so much. I shall start my dressing in October instead of next month. I shall only be in hospital a few weeks and then we can go away to the seaside for the rest of the summer. It'll do us all good, you and the baby and me."
"Oh, let's go to Brighton, Philip, I like Brighton, you get such a nice cla.s.s of people there." Philip had vaguely thought of some little fis.h.i.+ng village in Cornwall, but as she spoke it occurred to him that Mildred would be bored to death there.
"I don't mind where we go as long as I get the sea."
He did not know why, but he had suddenly an irresistible longing for the sea. He wanted to bathe, and he thought with delight of splas.h.i.+ng about in the salt water. He was a good swimmer, and nothing exhilarated him like a rough sea.
"I say, it will be jolly," he cried.
"It'll be like a honeymoon, won't it?" she said. "How much can I have for my new dress, Phil?"
XCIV
Philip asked Mr. Jacobs, the a.s.sistant-surgeon for whom he had dressed, to do the operation. Jacobs accepted with pleasure, since he was interested just then in neglected talipes and was getting together materials for a paper. He warned Philip that he could not make his foot like the other, but he thought he could do a good deal; and though he would always limp he would be able to wear a boot less unsightly than that which he had been accustomed to. Philip remembered how he had prayed to a G.o.d who was able to remove mountains for him who had faith, and he smiled bitterly.
"I don't expect a miracle," he answered.
"I think you're wise to let me try what I can do. You'll find a club-foot rather a handicap in practice. The layman is full of fads, and he doesn't like his doctor to have anything the matter with him."
Philip went into a 'small ward', which was a room on the landing, outside each ward, reserved for special cases. He
They settled to go to Brighton in August. Philip wanted to take lodgings, but Mildred said that she would have to do housekeeping, and it would only be a holiday for her if they went to a boarding-house.
"I have to see about the food every day at home, I get that sick of it I want a thorough change."
Philip agreed, and it happened that Mildred knew of a boarding-house at Kemp Town where they would not be charged more than twenty-five s.h.i.+llings a week each. She arranged with Philip to write about rooms, but when he got back to Kennington he found that she had done nothing. He was irritated.
"I shouldn't have thought you had so much to do as all that," he said.
"Well, I can't think of everything. It's not my fault if I forget, is it?"
Philip was so anxious to get to the sea that he would not wait to communicate with the mistress of the boarding-house.
"We'll leave the luggage at the station and go to the house and see if they've got rooms, and if they have we can just send an outside porter for our traps."
"You can please yourself," said Mildred stiffly.
She did not like being reproached, and, retiring huffily into a haughty silence, she sat by listlessly while Philip made the preparations for their departure. The little flat was hot and stuffy under the August sun, and from the road beat up a malodorous sultriness. As he lay in his bed in the small ward with its red, distempered walls he had longed for fresh air and the splas.h.i.+ng of the sea against his breast. He felt he would go mad if he had to spend another night in London. Mildred recovered her good temper when she saw the streets of Brighton crowded with people making holiday, and they were both in high spirits as they drove out to Kemp Town. Philip stroked the baby's cheek.
"We shall get a very different colour into them when we've been down here a few days," he said, smiling.
They arrived at the boarding-house and dismissed the cab. An untidy maid opened the door and, when Philip asked if they had rooms, said she would inquire. She fetched her mistress. A middle-aged woman, stout and business-like, came downstairs, gave them the scrutinising glance of her profession, and asked what accommodation they required.
"Two single rooms, and if you've got such a thing we'd rather like a cot in one of them."
"I'm afraid I haven't got that. I've got one nice large double room, and I could let you have a cot."
"I don't think that would do," said Philip.
"I could give you another room next week. Brighton's very full just now, and people have to take what they can get."
"If it were only for a few days, Philip, I think we might be able to manage," said Mildred.
"I think two rooms would be more convenient. Can you recommend any other place where they take boarders?"
"I can, but I don't suppose they'd have room any more than I have."
"Perhaps you wouldn't mind giving me the address."
The house the stout woman suggested was in the next street, and they walked towards it. Philip could walk quite well, though he had to lean on a stick, and he was rather weak. Mildred carried the baby. They went for a little in silence, and then he saw she was crying. It annoyed him, and he took no notice, but she forced his attention.
"Lend me a hanky, will you? I can't get at mine with baby," she said in a voice strangled with sobs, turning her head away from him.
He gave her his handkerchief, but said nothing. She dried her eyes, and as he did not speak, went on.
"I might be poisonous."
"Please don't make a scene in the street," he said.
"It'll look so funny insisting on separate rooms like that. What'll they think of us?"
"If they knew the circ.u.mstances I imagine they'd think us surprisingly moral," said Philip.
She gave him a sidelong glance.
"You're not going to give it away that we're not married?" she asked quickly.
"No."