Of Human Bondage by W. Somerset Maugham (classic english novels .TXT) 📕

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 massière 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 presents for her husband and for Philip. In the course of years it had diminished sadly, but it was still with the Vicar a subject for jesting. He talked of his wife as a rich woman and he constantly spoke of the “nest egg.”

“Oh, please take it, Philip. I’m so sorry I’ve been extravagant, and there’s only that left. But it’ll make me so happy if you’ll accept it.”

“But you’ll want it,” said Philip.

“No, I don’t think I shall. I was keeping it in case your uncle died before me. I thought it would be useful to have a little something I could get at immediately if I wanted it, but I don’t think I shall live very much longer now.”

“Oh, my dear, don’t say that. Why, of course you’re going to live forever. I can’t possibly spare you.”

“Oh, I’m not sorry.” Her voice broke and she hid her eyes, but in a moment, drying them, she smiled bravely. “At first, I used to pray to God that He might not take me first, because I didn’t want your uncle to be left alone, I didn’t want him to have all the suffering, but now I know that it wouldn’t mean so much to your uncle as it would mean to me. He wants to live more than I do, I’ve never been the wife he wanted, and I daresay he’d marry again if anything happened to me. So I should like to go first. You don’t think it’s selfish of me, Philip, do you? But I couldn’t bear it if he went.”

Philip kissed her wrinkled, thin cheek. He did not know why the sight he had of that overwhelming love made him feel strangely ashamed. It was incomprehensible that she should care so much for a man who was so indifferent, so selfish, so grossly self-indulgent; and he divined dimly that in her heart she knew his indifference and his selfishness, knew them and loved him humbly all the same.

“You will take the money, Philip?” she said, gently stroking his hand. “I know you can do without it, but it’ll give me so much happiness. I’ve always wanted to do something for you. You see, I never had a child of my own, and I’ve loved you as if you were my son. When you were a little boy, though I knew it was wicked, I used to wish almost that you might be ill, so that I could nurse you day and night. But you were only ill once and then it was at school. I should so like to help you. It’s the only chance I shall ever have. And perhaps some day when you’re a great artist you won’t forget me, but you’ll remember that I gave you your start.”

“It’s very good of you,” said Philip. “I’m very grateful.” A smile came into her tired eyes, a smile of pure happiness.

“Oh, I’m so glad.”

XL

A few days later Mrs. Carey went to the station to see Philip off. She stood at the door of the carriage, trying to keep back her tears. Philip was restless and eager. He wanted to be gone.

“Kiss me once more,” she said.

He leaned out of the window and kissed her. The train started, and she stood on the wooden platform of the little station, waving her handkerchief till it was out of sight. Her heart was dreadfully heavy, and the few hundred yards to the vicarage seemed very, very long. It was natural enough that he should be eager to go, she thought, he was a boy and the future beckoned to him; but she⁠—she clenched her teeth so that she should not cry. She uttered a little inward prayer that God would guard him, and keep him out of temptation, and give him happiness and good fortune.

But Philip ceased to think of her a moment after he had settled down in his carriage. He thought only of the future. He had written to Mrs. Otter, the massière to whom Hayward had given him an introduction, and had