It was a fine summer.  Day after day was hot and cloudless; but the heat was tempered by the neighbourhood of the sea, and there was a pleasant exhilaration in the air, so that one was excited and not oppressed by the August sunshine.  There was a pond in the garden in which a fountain played; water lilies grew in it and gold fish sunned themselves on the surface.  Philip and Miss Wilkinson used to take rugs and cushions there after dinner and lie on the lawn in the shade of a tall hedge of roses.  They talked and read all the afternoon.  They smoked cigarettes, which the Vicar did not allow in the house; he thought smoking a disgusting habit, and used frequently to say that it was disgraceful for anyone to grow a slave to a habit.  He forgot that he was himself a slave to afternoon tea.

One day Miss Wilkinson gave Philip La Vie de Boheme.  She had found it by accident when she was rummaging among the books in the Vicar’s study.  It had been bought in a lot with something Mr. Carey wanted and had remained undiscovered for ten years.

Philip began to read Murger’s fascinating, ill-written, absurd masterpiece, and fell at once under its spell.  His soul danced with joy at that picture of starvation which is so good-humoured, of squalor which is so picturesque, of sordid love which is so romantic, of bathos which is so moving.  Rodolphe and Mimi, Musette and Schaunard!  They wander through the gray streets of the Latin Quarter, finding refuge now in one attic, now in another, in their quaint costumes of Louis Philippe, with their tears and their smiles, happy-go-lucky and reckless.  Who can resist them?  It is only when you return to the book with a sounder judgment that you find how gross their pleasures were, how vulgar their minds; and you feel the utter worthlessness, as artists and as human beings, of that gay procession.  Philip was enraptured.

“Don’t you wish you were going to Paris instead of London?” asked Miss Wilkinson, smiling at his enthusiasm.

“It’s too late now even if I did,” he answered.

During the fortnight he had been back from Germany there had been much discussion between himself and his uncle about his future.  He had refused definitely to go to Oxford, and now that there was no chance of his getting scholarships even Mr. Carey came to the conclusion that he could not afford it.  His entire fortune had consisted of only two thousand pounds, and though it had been invested in mortgages at five per cent, he had not been able to live on the interest.  It was now a little reduced.  It would be absurd to spend two hundred a year, the least he could live on at a university, for three years at Oxford which would lead him no nearer to earning his living.  He was anxious to go straight to London.  Mrs. Carey thought there were only four professions for a gentleman, the Army, the Navy, the Law, and the Church.  She had added medicine because her brother-in-law practised it, but did not forget that in her young days no one ever considered the doctor a gentleman.  The first two were out of the question, and Philip was firm in his refusal to be ordained.  Only the law remained.  The local doctor had suggested that many gentlemen now went in for engineering, but Mrs. Carey opposed the idea at once.