Philip did not find living in Paris as cheap as he had been led to believe and by February had spent most of the money with which he started.  He was too proud to appeal to his guardian, nor did he wish Aunt Louisa to know that his circumstances were straitened, since he was certain she would make an effort to send him something from her own pocket, and he knew how little she could afford to.  In three months he would attain his majority and come into possession of his small fortune.  He tided over the interval by selling the few trinkets which he had inherited from his father.

At about this time Lawson suggested that they should take a small studio which was vacant in one of the streets that led out of the Boulevard Raspail.  It was very cheap.  It had a room attached, which they could use as a bed-room; and since Philip was at the school every morning Lawson could have the undisturbed use of the studio then; Lawson, after wandering from school to school, had come to the conclusion that he could work best alone, and proposed to get a model in three or four days a week.  At first Philip hesitated on account of the expense, but they reckoned it out; and it seemed (they were so anxious to have a studio of their own that they calculated pragmatically) that the cost would not be much greater than that of living in a hotel.  Though the rent and the cleaning by the concierge would come to a little more, they would save on the petit dejeuner, which they could make themselves.  A year or two earlier Philip would have refused to share a room with anyone, since he was so sensitive about his deformed foot, but his morbid way of looking at it was growing less marked:  in Paris it did not seem to matter so much, and, though he never by any chance forgot it himself, he ceased to feel that other people were constantly noticing it.

They moved in, bought a couple of beds, a washing-stand, a few chairs, and felt for the first time the thrill of possession.  They were so excited that the first night they went to bed in what they could call a home they lay awake talking till three in the morning; and next day found lighting the fire and making their own coffee, which they had in pyjamas, such a jolly business that Philip did not get to Amitrano’s till nearly eleven.  He was in excellent spirits.  He nodded to Fanny Price.

“How are you getting on?” he asked cheerily.

“What does that matter to you?” she asked in reply.

Philip could not help laughing.

“Don’t jump down my throat.  I was only trying to make myself polite.”

“I don’t want your politeness.”

“D’you think it’s worth while quarrelling with me too?” asked Philip mildly.  “There are so few people you’re on speaking terms with, as it is.”

“That’s my business, isn’t it?”

“Quite.”

He began to work, vaguely wondering why Fanny Price made herself so disagreeable.  He had come to the conclusion that he thoroughly disliked her.  Everyone did.  People were only civil to her at all from fear of the malice of her tongue; for to their faces and behind their backs she said abominable things.  But Philip was feeling so happy that he did not want even Miss Price to bear ill-feeling towards him.  He used the artifice which had often before succeeded in banishing her ill-humour.