Of Human Bondage | Page 5

hansom, and she told the driver
where to go.

III
When they reached the house Mrs. Carey had died in--it was in a dreary,
respectable street between Notting Hill Gate and High Street,
Kensington--Emma led Philip into the drawing-room. His uncle was
writing letters of thanks for the wreaths which had been sent. One of
them, which had arrived too late for the funeral, lay in its cardboard
box on the hall-table.
"Here's Master Philip," said Emma.
Mr. Carey stood up slowly and shook hands with the little boy. Then on
second thoughts he bent down and kissed his forehead. He was a man
of somewhat less than average height, inclined to corpulence, with his
hair, worn long, arranged over the scalp so as to conceal his baldness.
He was clean-shaven. His features were regular, and it was possible to
imagine that in his youth he had been good-looking. On his
watch-chain he wore a gold cross.
"You're going to live with me now, Philip," said Mr. Carey. "Shall you

like that?"
Two years before Philip had been sent down to stay at the vicarage
after an attack of chicken-pox; but there remained with him a
recollection of an attic and a large garden rather than of his uncle and
aunt.
"Yes."
"You must look upon me and your Aunt Louisa as your father and
mother."
The child's mouth trembled a little, he reddened, but did not answer.
"Your dear mother left you in my charge."
Mr. Carey had no great ease in expressing himself. When the news
came that his sister-in-law was dying, he set off at once for London, but
on the way thought of nothing but the disturbance in his life that would
be caused if her death forced him to undertake the care of her son. He
was well over fifty, and his wife, to whom he had been married for
thirty years, was childless; he did not look forward with any pleasure to
the presence of a small boy who might be noisy and rough. He had
never much liked his sister-in-law.
"I'm going to take you down to Blackstable tomorrow," he said.
"With Emma?"
The child put his hand in hers, and she pressed it.
"I'm afraid Emma must go away," said Mr. Carey.
"But I want Emma to come with me."
Philip began to cry, and the nurse could not help crying too. Mr. Carey
looked at them helplessly.
"I think you'd better leave me alone with Master Philip for a moment."
"Very good, sir."
Though Philip clung to her, she released herself gently. Mr. Carey took
the boy on his knee and put his arm round him.
"You mustn't cry," he said. "You're too old to have a nurse now. We
must see about sending you to school."
"I want Emma to come with me," the child repeated.
"It costs too much money, Philip. Your father didn't leave very much,
and I don't know what's become of it. You must look at every penny
you spend."
Mr. Carey had called the day before on the family solicitor. Philip's
father was a surgeon in good practice, and his hospital appointments

suggested an established position; so that it was a surprise on his
sudden death from blood-poisoning to find that he had left his widow
little more than his life insurance and what could be got for the lease of
their house in Bruton Street. This was six months ago; and Mrs. Carey,
already in delicate health, finding herself with child, had lost her head
and accepted for the lease the first offer that was made. She stored her
furniture, and, at a rent which the parson thought outrageous, took a
furnished house for a year, so that she might suffer from no
inconvenience till her child was born. But she had never been used to
the management of money, and was unable to adapt her expenditure to
her altered circumstances. The little she had slipped through her fingers
in one way and another, so that now, when all expenses were paid, not
much more than two thousand pounds remained to support the boy till
he was able to earn his own living. It was impossible to explain all this
to Philip and he was sobbing still.
"You'd better go to Emma," Mr. Carey said, feeling that she could
console the child better than anyone.
Without a word Philip slipped off his uncle's knee, but Mr. Carey
stopped him.
"We must go tomorrow, because on Saturday I've got to prepare my
sermon, and you must tell Emma to get your things ready today. You
can bring all your toys. And if you want anything to remember your
father and mother by you can take one thing for each of them.
Everything else is going to