"If I'm going in for painting I must do it thoroughly, and it's only in Paris that you can get the real thing."
At his suggestion Mrs. Carey wrote to the solicitor, saying that Philip was discontented with his work in London, and asking what he thought of a change. Mr. Nixon answered as follows:
Dear Mrs. Carey,
I have seen Mr. Herbert Carter, and I am afraid I must tell you that Philip has not done so well as one could have wished. If he is very strongly set against the work, perhaps it is better that he should take the opportunity there is now to break his articles. I am naturally very disappointed, but as you know you can take a horse to the water, but you can't make him drink. Yours very sincerely, Albert Nixon.
The letter was shown to the Vicar, but served only to increase his obstinacy. He was willing enough that Philip should take up some other profession, he suggested his father's calling, medicine, but nothing would induce him to pay an allowance if Philip went to Paris.
"It's a mere excuse for self-indulgence and sensuality," he said.
"I'm interested to hear you blame self-indulgence in others," retorted Philip acidly.
But by this time an answer had come from Hayward, giving the name of a hotel where Philip could get a room for thirty francs a month and enclosing a note of introduction to the massiere of a school. Philip read the letter to Mrs. Carey and told her he proposed to start on the first of September.
"But you haven't got any money?" she said.
"I'm going into Tercanbury this afternoon to sell the jewellery."
He had inherited from his father a gold watch and chain, two or three rings, some links, and two pins. One of them was a pearl and might fetch a considerable sum.
"It's a very different thing, what a thing's worth and what it'll fetch," said Aunt Louisa.
Philip smiled, for this was one of his uncle's stock phrases.
"I know, but at the worst I think I can get a hundred pounds on the lot, and that'll keep me till I'm twenty- one."
Mrs. Carey did not answer, but she went upstairs, put on her little black bonnet, and went to the bank. In an hour she came back. She went to Philip, who was reading in the drawing-room, and handed him an envelope.
"What's this?" he asked.
"It's a little present for you," she answered, smiling shyly.
He opened it and found eleven five-pound notes and a little paper sack bulging with sovereigns.
"I couldn't bear to let you sell your father's jewellery. It's the money I had in the bank. It comes to very nearly a hundred pounds."
Philip blushed, and, he knew not why, tears suddenly filled his eyes.
"Oh, my dear, I can't take it," he said. "It's most awfully good of you, but I couldn't bear to take it."
When Mrs. Carey was married she had three hundred pounds, and this money, carefully watched, had been used by her to meet any unforeseen expense, any urgent charity, or to buy Christmas and birthday
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