im inclined
to force circumstances and aim notwithstanding precisely in that
direction. He could not bear that his friends should laugh at him. This
might have prevented him from ever taking the definite step of abandoning
the study of painting, but the different environment made him on a sudden
see things differently. Like many another he discovered that crossing the
Channel makes things which had seemed important singularly futile. The
life which had been so charming that he could not bear to leave it now
seemed inept; he was seized with a distaste for the cafes, the restaurants
with their ill-cooked food, the shabby way in which they all lived. He did
not care any more what his friends thought about him: Cronshaw with his
rhetoric, Mrs. Otter with her respectability, Ruth Chalice with her
affectations, Lawson and Clutton with their quarrels; he felt a revulsion
from them all. He wrote to Lawson and asked him to send over all his
belongings. A week later they arrived. When he unpacked his canvases he
found himself able to examine his work without emotion. He noticed the
fact with interest. His uncle was anxious to see his pictures. Though he
had so greatly disapproved of Philip's desire to go to Paris, he accepted
the situation now with equanimity. He was interested in the life of
students and constantly put Philip questions about it. He was in fact a
little proud of him because he was a painter, and when people were present
made attempts to draw him out. He looked eagerly at the studies of models
which Philip showed him. Philip set before him his portrait of Miguel
Ajuria.

"Why did you paint him?" asked Mr. Carey.

"Oh, I wanted a model, and his head interested me."

"As you haven't got anything to do here I wonder you don't paint me."

"It would bore you to sit."

"I think I should like it."

"We must see about it."

Philip was amused at his uncle's vanity. It was clear that he was dying to
have his portrait painted. To get something for nothing was a chance not
to be missed. For two or three days he threw out little hints. He
reproached Philip for laziness, asked him when he was going to start work,
and finally began telling everyone he met that Philip was going to paint
him. At last there came a rainy day, and after breakfast Mr. Carey said to
Philip:

"Now, what d'you say to starting on my portrait this morning?" Philip put
down the book he was reading and leaned back in his chair.

"I've given up pai