“And what for?”
Mildred’s eyes are on my eyes. I am happy. Her eyes do not know that Philip’s hands are on her hands. I want only her eyes. Her face is white in its gold maze of curls.
I pass her. I turn the key of the door back in the lock. I face about with my hand upon the doorknob.
—Why do they let me go so easily?
For they have not protested more. Their will is shallow: quickly they are at the end of their will. Mother’s thoughts steal back to her easy chair and to her cigarette and to her badinage with Doctor Stein. Father has pulled two huge cigars from his case which he claps shut: he offers one to Mr. Fayn who takes it. In Philip’s eyes, there is a growing gayety of promise as he looks at the milkwarm skin of Mildred.
The hurt of their shallow will moves me to lightness. It is as if, in asserting for myself the inconsequence of what I am to do, their negative permission will become less cold and cruel.
“I’ll not be long,” I say: my voice sounds high. “I’ll be back ... never fear ... I’ll be back.”
Mildred’s eyes for the first time leave mine as if my words released them. She looks at Philip. She is very close to him, and her face upturns to his. Her little breasts alert in the green sheer of her gown are very close to Philip. Her smile flowers near him. She whispers, and they turn away from me....
I open the door. The light from the room tongues into the dark distance and is lost. I look back. Mother and Doctor Stein are chatting, she takes his cigarette and lights her own from it. Father beside Mr. Fayn suggests a play of the cards. Mildred and Philip are side by side: her guitar lies at her feet.
—They have forgotten me?