Philip’s uncle had an old friend, called Miss Wilkinson, who lived in Berlin.  She was the daughter of a clergyman, and it was with her father, the rector of a village in Lincolnshire, that Mr. Carey had spent his last curacy; on his death, forced to earn her living, she had taken various situations as a governess in France and Germany.  She had kept up a correspondence with Mrs. Carey, and two or three times had spent her holidays at Blackstable Vicarage, paying as was usual with the Careys’ unfrequent guests a small sum for her keep.  When it became clear that it was less trouble to yield to Philip’s wishes than to resist them, Mrs. Carey wrote to ask her for advice.  Miss Wilkinson recommended Heidelberg as an excellent place to learn German in and the house of Frau Professor Erlin as a comfortable home.  Philip might live there for thirty marks a week, and the Professor himself, a teacher at the local high school, would instruct him.

Philip arrived in Heidelberg one morning in May.  His things were put on a barrow and he followed the porter out of the station.  The sky was bright blue, and the trees in the avenue through which they passed were thick with leaves; there was something in the air fresh to Philip, and mingled with the timidity he felt at entering on a new life, among strangers, was a great exhilaration.  He was a little disconsolate that no one had come to meet him, and felt very shy when the porter left him at the front door of a big white house.  An untidy lad let him in and took him into a drawing-room.  It was filled with a large suite covered in green velvet, and in the middle was a round table.  On this in water stood a bouquet of flowers tightly packed together in a paper frill like the bone of a mutton chop, and carefully spaced round it were books in leather bindings.  There was a musty smell.

Presently, with an odour of cooking, the Frau Professor came in, a short, very stout woman with tightly dressed hair and a red face; she had little eyes, sparkling like beads, and an effusive manner.  She took both Philip’s hands and asked him about Miss Wilkinson, who had twice spent a few weeks with her.  She spoke in German and in broken English.  Philip could not make her understand that he did not know Miss Wilkinson.  Then her two daughters appeared.  They seemed hardly young to Philip, but perhaps they were not more than twenty-five:  the elder, Thekla, was as short as her mother, with the same, rather shifty air, but with a pretty face and abundant dark hair; Anna, her younger sister, was tall and plain, but since she had a pleasant smile Philip immediately preferred her.  After a few minutes of polite conversation the Frau Professor took Philip to his room and left him.  It was in a turret, looking over the tops of the trees in the Anlage; and the bed was in an alcove, so that when you sat at the desk it had not the look of a bed-room at all.  Philip unpacked his things and set out all his books.  He was his own master at last.