Of Human Bondage | Page 8

himself. Then she
went downstairs and rang the bell for tea.
The dining-room, large and well-proportioned, had windows on two
sides of it, with heavy curtains of red rep; there was a big table in the
middle; and at one end an imposing mahogany sideboard with a
looking-glass in it. In one corner stood a harmonium. On each side of
the fireplace were chairs covered in stamped leather, each with an
antimacassar; one had arms and was called the husband, and the other
had none and was called the wife. Mrs. Carey never sat in the arm-chair:
she said she preferred a chair that was not too comfortable; there was
always a lot to do, and if her chair had had arms she might not be so
ready to leave it.
Mr. Carey was making up the fire when Philip came in, and he pointed
out to his nephew that there were two pokers. One was large and bright
and polished and unused, and was called the Vicar; and the other,
which was much smaller and had evidently passed through many fires,
was called the Curate.
"What are we waiting for?" said Mr. Carey.
"I told Mary Ann to make you an egg. I thought you'd be hungry after
your journey."
Mrs. Carey thought the journey from London to Blackstable very tiring.
She seldom travelled herself, for the living was only three hundred a
year, and, when her husband wanted a holiday, since there was not
money for two, he went by himself. He was very fond of Church

Congresses and usually managed to go up to London once a year; and
once he had been to Paris for the exhibition, and two or three times to
Switzerland. Mary Ann brought in the egg, and they sat down. The
chair was much too low for Philip, and for a moment neither Mr. Carey
nor his wife knew what to do.
"I'll put some books under him," said Mary Ann.
She took from the top of the harmonium the large Bible and the
prayer-book from which the Vicar was accustomed to read prayers, and
put them on Philip's chair.
"Oh, William, he can't sit on the Bible," said Mrs. Carey, in a shocked
tone. "Couldn't you get him some books out of the study?"
Mr. Carey considered the question for an instant.
"I don't think it matters this once if you put the prayer-book on the top,
Mary Ann," he said. "The book of Common Prayer is the composition
of men like ourselves. It has no claim to divine authorship."
"I hadn't thought of that, William," said Aunt Louisa.
Philip perched himself on the books, and the Vicar, having said grace,
cut the top off his egg.
"There," he said, handing it to Philip, "you can eat my top if you like."
Philip would have liked an egg to himself, but he was not offered one,
so took what he could.
"How have the chickens been laying since I went away?" asked the
Vicar.
"Oh, they've been dreadful, only one or two a day."
"How did you like that top, Philip?" asked his uncle.
"Very much, thank you."
"You shall have another one on Sunday afternoon."
Mr. Carey always had a boiled egg at tea on Sunday, so that he might
be fortified for the evening service.

V
Philip came gradually to know the people he was to live with, and by
fragments of conversation, some of it not meant for his ears, learned a
good deal both about himself and about his dead parents. Philip's father
had been much younger than the Vicar of Blackstable. After a brilliant
career at St. Luke's Hospital he was put on the staff, and presently
began to earn money in considerable sums. He spent it freely. When the

parson set about restoring his church and asked his brother for a
subscription, he was surprised by receiving a couple of hundred pounds:
Mr. Carey, thrifty by inclination and economical by necessity, accepted
it with mingled feelings; he was envious of his brother because he
could afford to give so much, pleased for the sake of his church, and
vaguely irritated by a generosity which seemed almost ostentatious.
Then Henry Carey married a patient, a beautiful girl but penniless, an
orphan with no near relations, but of good family; and there was an
array of fine friends at the wedding. The parson, on his visits to her
when he came to London, held himself with reserve. He felt shy with
her and in his heart he resented her great beauty: she dressed more
magnificently than became the wife of a hardworking surgeon; and the
charming furniture of her house, the flowers among which she lived
even in winter, suggested an extravagance which he deplored. He heard
her