“Very well; stick to it.  I’ve no more to say.  You’ve thrown away your education, and gone down a step in life, when I had given you the means of rising, that’s all.”

“I am very sorry that we differ, father.  I think I can be quite as much of a gentleman at the work I have undertaken, as if I had been a curate.  But I am grateful to you for wishing to do the best for me.”

“Very well; I have no more to say.  I wash my hands of you.  I only hope, when you have a son of your own he will make a better return for the pains you spend on him.”

This was very cutting to Fred. His father was using that unfair advantage possessed by us all when we are in a pathetic situation and see our own past as if it were simply part of the pathos.  In reality, Mr. Vincy’s wishes about his son had had a great deal of pride, inconsiderateness, and egoistic folly in them.  But still the disappointed father held a strong lever; and Fred felt as if he were being banished with a malediction.

“I hope you will not object to my remaining at home, sir?” he said, after rising to go; “I shall have a sufficient salary to pay for my board, as of course I should wish to do.”

“Board be hanged!” said Mr. Vincy, recovering himself in his disgust at the notion that Fred’s keep would be missed at his table.  “Of course your mother will want you to stay.  But I shall keep no horse for you, you understand; and you will pay your own tailor.  You will do with a suit or two less, I fancy, when you have to pay for ’em.”

Fred lingered; there was still something to be said.  At last it came.

“I hope you will shake hands with me, father, and forgive me the vexation I have caused you.”

Mr. Vincy from his chair threw a quick glance upward at his son, who had advanced near to him, and then gave his hand, saying hurriedly, “Yes, yes, let us say no more.”

Fred went through much more narrative and explanation with his mother, but she was inconsolable, having before her eyes what perhaps her husband had never thought of, the certainty that Fred would marry Mary Garth, that her life would henceforth be spoiled by a perpetual infusion of Garths and their ways, and that her darling boy, with his beautiful face and stylish air “beyond anybody else’s son in Middlemarch,” would be sure to get like that family in plainness of appearance and carelessness about his clothes.  To her it seemed that there was a Garth conspiracy to get possession of the desirable Fred, but she dared not enlarge on this opinion, because a slight hint of it had made him “fly out” at her as he had never done before.  Her temper was too sweet for her to show any anger, but she felt that her happiness had received a bruise, and for several days merely to look at Fred made her cry a little as if he were the subject of some baleful prophecy.  Perhaps she was the slower to recover her usual cheerfulness because Fred had warned her that she must not reopen the sore question with his father, who had accepted his decision and forgiven him.  If her husband had been vehement against Fred, she would have been urged into defence of her darling.  It was the end of the fourth day when Mr. Vincy said to her—­