Philip nursed his wrath till the next half-holiday.  They had them on Tuesdays and Thursdays, since on Saturday afternoons they had to go to a service in the Cathedral.  He stopped behind when the rest of the Sixth went out.

“May I go to Blackstable this afternoon, please, sir?” he asked.

“No,” said the headmaster briefly.

“I wanted to see my uncle about something very important.”

“Didn’t you hear me say no?”

Philip did not answer.  He went out.  He felt almost sick with humiliation, the humiliation of having to ask and the humiliation of the curt refusal.  He hated the headmaster now.  Philip writhed under that despotism which never vouchsafed a reason for the most tyrannous act.  He was too angry to care what he did, and after dinner walked down to the station, by the back ways he knew so well, just in time to catch the train to Blackstable.  He walked into the vicarage and found his uncle and aunt sitting in the dining-room.

“Hulloa, where have you sprung from?” said the Vicar.

It was very clear that he was not pleased to see him.  He looked a little uneasy.

“I thought I’d come and see you about my leaving.  I want to know what you mean by promising me one thing when I was here, and doing something different a week after.”

He was a little frightened at his own boldness, but he had made up his mind exactly what words to use, and, though his heart beat violently, he forced himself to say them.

“Have you got leave to come here this afternoon?”

“No.  I asked Perkins and he refused.  If you like to write and tell him I’ve been here you can get me into a really fine old row.”

Mrs. Carey sat knitting with trembling hands.  She was unused to scenes and they agitated her extremely.

“It would serve you right if I told him,” said Mr. Carey.

“If you like to be a perfect sneak you can.  After writing to Perkins as you did you’re quite capable of it.”

It was foolish of Philip to say that, because it gave the Vicar exactly the opportunity he wanted.

“I’m not going to sit still while you say impertinent things to me,” he said with dignity.

He got up and walked quickly out of the room into his study.  Philip heard him shut the door and lock it.

“Oh, I wish to God I were twenty-one.  It is awful to be tied down like this.”

Aunt Louisa began to cry quietly.

“Oh, Philip, you oughtn’t to have spoken to your uncle like that.  Do please go and tell him you’re sorry.”

“I’m not in the least sorry.  He’s taking a mean advantage.  Of course it’s just waste of money keeping me on at school, but what does he care?  It’s not his money.  It was cruel to put me under the guardianship of people who know nothing about things.”

“Philip.”

Philip in his voluble anger stopped suddenly at the sound of her voice.  It was heart-broken.  He had not realised what bitter things he was saying.