Of Human Bondage
to kiss Miss Wilkinson; not then, but in the evening; it would be
easier in the dark, and after he had kissed her the rest would follow.
He would kiss her that very evening. He swore an oath to that effect.
He laid his plans. After supper he suggested that they should take a
stroll in the garden. Miss Wilkinson accepted, and they sauntered side
by side. Philip was very nervous. He did not know why, but the
conversation would not lead in the right direction; he had decided that
the first thing to do was to put his arm round her waist; but he could
not suddenly put his arm round her waist when she was talking of the
regatta which was to be held next week. He led her artfully into the
darkest parts of the garden, but having arrived there his courage
failed him. They sat on a bench, and he had really made up his mind
that here was his opportunity when Miss Wilkinson said she was sure
there were earwigs and insisted on moving. They walked round the garden
once more, and Philip promised himself he would take the plunge before
they arrived at that bench again; but as they passed the house, they
saw Mrs. Carey standing at the door.
“Hadn’t you young people better come in? I’m sure the night air isn’t
good for you.”
“Perhaps we had better go in,” said Philip. “I don’t want you to catch
cold.”
He said it with a sigh of relief. He could attempt nothing more that
night. But afterwards, when he was alone in his room, he was furious
with himself. He had been a perfect fool. He was certain that Miss
Wilkinson expected him to kiss her, otherwise she wouldn’t have come
into the garden. She was always saying that only Frenchmen knew how to
treat women. Philip had read French novels. If he had been a Frenchman
he would have seized her in his arms and told her passionately that he
adored her; he would have pressed his lips on her nuque. He did not
know why Frenchmen always kissed ladies on the nuque. He did not
himself see anything so very attractive in the nape of the neck. Of
course it was much easier for Frenchmen to do these things; the
language was such an aid; Philip could never help feeling that to say
passionate things in English sounded a little absurd. He wished now
that he had never undertaken the siege of Miss Wilkinson’s virtue; the
first fortnight had been so jolly, and now he was wretched; but he was
determined not to give in, he would never respect himself again if he
did, and he made up his mind irrevocably that the next night he would
kiss her without fail.
Next day when he got up he saw it was raining, and his first thought
was that they would not be able to go into the garden that evening. He
was in high spirits at breakfast. Miss Wilkinson sent Mary Ann in to
say that she had a headache and would remain in bed. She did not come
down till tea-time, when she appeared in a becoming wrapper and a pale
face; but she was quite recovered by supper, and the meal was very
cheerful. After prayers she said she would go straight to bed, and she
kissed Mrs. Carey. Then she turned to Philip.
“Good gracious!” she cried. “I was just going to kiss you too.”
“Why don’t you?” he said.
She laughed and held out her hand. She distinctly pressed his.
The following day there was not a cloud in the sky, and the garden was
sweet and fresh after the rain. Philip went down to the beach to bathe
and when he came home ate a magnificent dinner. They were having a
tennis party at the vicarage in the afternoon and Miss Wilkinson put on
her best dress. She certainly knew how to wear her clothes, and Philip
could not help noticing how elegant she looked beside the curate’s wife
and the doctor’s married daughter. There were two roses in her
waistband. She sat in a garden chair by the side of the lawn, holding a
red parasol over herself, and the light on her face was very becoming.
Philip was fond of tennis. He served well and as he ran clumsily played
close to the net: notwithstanding his club-foot he was quick, and it
was difficult to get a ball past him. He was pleased because he won all
his sets. At tea he lay down at Miss Wilkinson’s feet, hot and panting.
“Flannels suit you,” she said. “You look very nice this afternoon.”
He blushed with delight.
“I can honestly return the compliment. You look perfectly ravishing.”
She smiled and gave him a long look with her black eyes.
After supper he insisted that she should come out.
“Haven’t you had enough exercise for one day?”
“It’ll be lovely in the garden tonight. The stars are all out.”
He was in high spirits.
“D’you know, Mrs. Carey has been scolding me on your account?” said
Miss Wilkinson, when they were sauntering through the kitchen garden.
“She says I mustn’t flirt with you.”
“Have you been flirting with me? I hadn’t noticed it.”
“She was only joking.”
“It was very unkind of you to refuse to kiss me last night.”
“If you saw the look your uncle gave me when I said what I did!”
“Was that all that prevented you?”
“I prefer to kiss people without witnesses.”
“There are no witnesses now.”
Philip put his arm round her waist and kissed her lips. She only
laughed a little and made no attempt to withdraw. It had come quite
naturally. Philip was very proud of himself. He said he would, and he
had. It was the easiest thing in the world. He wished he had done it
before. He did it again.
“Oh, you mustn’t,” she said.
“Why not?”
“Because I like it,” she laughed.
XXXIV
Next day after dinner they took their rugs and cushions to the
fountain, and their books; but they did not read. Miss Wilkinson made
herself comfortable and she opened the red sun-shade. Philip was not at
all shy now, but at first she would not let him kiss her.
“It was very wrong of me last night,” she said. “I couldn’t sleep, I
felt I’d done so wrong.”
“What nonsense!” he cried. “I’m sure you slept like a top.”
“What do you think your uncle would say if he knew?”
“There’s no reason why he should know.”
He leaned over her, and his heart went pit-a-pat.
“Why d’you want to kiss me?”
He knew he ought to reply: “Because I love you.” But he could not bring
himself to say it.
“Why do you think?” he asked instead.
She looked at him with smiling eyes and touched his face with the tips
of her fingers.
“How smooth your face is,” she murmured.
“I want shaving awfully,” he said.
It was astonishing how difficult he found it to make romantic speeches.
He found that silence helped him much more than words. He could look
inexpressible things. Miss Wilkinson sighed.
“Do you like me at all?”
“Yes, awfully.”
When he tried to kiss her again she did not resist. He pretended to be
much more passionate than he really was, and he succeeded in playing a
part which looked very well in his own eyes.
“I’m beginning to be rather frightened of you,” said Miss Wilkinson.
“You’ll come out after supper, won’t you?” he begged.
“Not unless you promise to behave yourself.”
“I’ll promise anything.”
He was catching fire from the flame he was partly simulating, and at
tea-time he was obstreperously merry. Miss Wilkinson looked at him
nervously.
“You mustn’t have those shining eyes,” she said to him afterwards.
“What will your Aunt Louisa think?”
“I don’t care what she thinks.”
Miss Wilkinson gave a little laugh of pleasure. They had no sooner
finished supper than he said to her:
“Are you going to keep me company while I smoke a cigarette?”
“Why don’t you let Miss Wilkinson rest?” said Mrs. Carey. “You must
remember she’s not as young as you.”
“Oh, I’d like to go out, Mrs. Carey,” she said, rather acidly.
“After dinner walk a mile, after supper rest a while,” said the Vicar.
“Your aunt is very nice, but she gets on my nerves sometimes,” said
Miss Wilkinson, as soon as they closed the side-door behind them.
Philip threw away the cigarette he had just lighted, and flung his arms
round her. She tried to push him away.
“You promised you’d be good, Philip.”
“You didn’t think I was going to keep a promise like that?”
“Not so near the house, Philip,” she said. “Supposing someone should
come out suddenly?”
He led her to the kitchen garden where no one was likely to come, and
this time Miss Wilkinson did not think of earwigs. He kissed her
passionately. It was one of the things that puzzled him that he did not
like her at all in the morning, and only moderately in the afternoon,
but at night the touch of her hand thrilled him. He said things that he
would never have thought himself capable of saying; he could certainly
never have said them in the broad light of day; and he listened to
himself with wonder and satisfaction.
“How beautifully you make love,” she said.
That was what he thought himself.
“Oh, if I could only say all the things that burn my heart!” he
murmured passionately.
It was splendid. It was the most thrilling game he had ever played; and
the wonderful thing was that he felt almost all he said. It was only
that he exaggerated a little. He was tremendously interested and
excited in the effect he could see it had on her. It was obviously with
an effort that at last she suggested going in.
“Oh, don’t go yet,” he cried.
“I must,” she muttered. “I’m frightened.”
He had a sudden intuition what was the right thing to do then.
“I can’t go in yet. I shall stay here and think. My cheeks are burning.
I want the night-air. Good-night.”
He held out his hand seriously, and she took it in silence. He thought
she stifled a sob. Oh, it was magnificent! When, after a decent
interval during which he had been rather bored in the dark garden by
himself, he went in he found that Miss Wilkinson had already gone to
bed.
After that things were different between them. The next day and the day
after Philip showed himself an eager lover. He was deliciously
flattered to discover that Miss Wilkinson was in love with him: she
told him so in English, and she told him so in French. She paid him
compliments. No one had ever informed him before that his eyes were
charming and that he had a sensual mouth. He had never bothered much
about his personal appearance, but now, when occasion presented, he
looked at himself in the glass with satisfaction. When he kissed her it
was wonderful to feel the passion that seemed to thrill her soul. He
kissed her a good deal, for he found it easier to do that than to say
the things he instinctively felt she expected of him. It still made him
feel a fool to say he worshipped her. He wished there were someone to
whom he could boast a little, and he would willingly have discussed
minute points of his conduct. Sometimes she said things that were
enigmatic, and he was puzzled. He wished Hayward had been there so that
he could ask him what he thought she meant, and what he had better do
next. He could not make up his mind whether he ought to rush things or
let them take their time. There were only three weeks more.
“I can’t bear to think of that,” she said. “It breaks my heart. And
then perhaps we shall never see one another again.”
“If you cared for me at all, you wouldn’t be so unkind to me,” he
whispered.
“Oh, why can’t you be content to let it go on as it is? Men are always
the same. They’re never satisfied.”
And when he pressed her, she said:
“But don’t you see it’s impossible. How can we here?”
He proposed all sorts of schemes, but she would not have anything to do
with them.
“I daren’t take the risk. It would be too dreadful if your aunt found
out.”
A day or two later he had an idea which seemed brilliant.
“Look here, if you had a headache on Sunday evening and offered to stay
at home and look after the house, Aunt Louisa would go to church.”
Generally Mrs. Carey remained in on Sunday evening in order to allow