“You shouldn’t come to such a decision hastily.”

“For ten months I’ve loathed it all, I’ve loathed the work, I’ve loathed the office, I loathe Loudon.  I’d rather sweep a crossing than spend my days here.”

“Well, I must say, I don’t think you’re very fitted for accountancy.”

“Good-bye,” said Philip, holding out his hand.  “I want to thank you for your kindness to me.  I’m sorry if I’ve been troublesome.  I knew almost from the beginning I was no good.”

“Well, if you really do make up your mind it is good-bye.  I don’t know what you’re going to do, but if you’re in the neighbourhood at any time come in and see us.”

Philip gave a little laugh.

“I’m afraid it sounds very rude, but I hope from the bottom of my heart that I shall never set eyes on any of you again.”

XXXIX

The Vicar of Blackstable would have nothing to do with the scheme which Philip laid before him.  He had a great idea that one should stick to whatever one had begun.  Like all weak men he laid an exaggerated stress on not changing one’s mind.

“You chose to be an accountant of your own free will,” he said.

“I just took that because it was the only chance I saw of getting up to town.  I hate London, I hate the work, and nothing will induce me to go back to it.”

Mr. and Mrs. Carey were frankly shocked at Philip’s idea of being an artist.  He should not forget, they said, that his father and mother were gentlefolk, and painting wasn’t a serious profession; it was Bohemian, disreputable, immoral.  And then Paris!

“So long as I have anything to say in the matter, I shall not allow you to live in Paris,” said the Vicar firmly.

It was a sink of iniquity.  The scarlet woman and she of Babylon flaunted their vileness there; the cities of the plain were not more wicked.

“You’ve been brought up like a gentleman and Christian, and I should be false to the trust laid upon me by your dead father and mother if I allowed you to expose yourself to such temptation.”

“Well, I know I’m not a Christian and I’m beginning to doubt whether I’m a gentleman,” said Philip.

The dispute grew more violent.  There was another year before Philip took possession of his small inheritance, and during that time Mr. Carey proposed only to give him an allowance if he remained at the office.  It was clear to Philip that if he meant not to continue with accountancy he must leave it while he could still get back half the money that had been paid for his articles.  The Vicar would not listen.  Philip, losing all reserve, said things to wound and irritate.

“You’ve got no right to waste my money,” he said at last.  “After all it’s my money, isn’t it?  I’m not a child.  You can’t prevent me from going to Paris if I make up my mind to.  You can’t force me to go back to London.”