Violet was right, as far as Philip’s coming to Muddy Lane was concerned. He did not make his appearance there again for a very long time after that Sunday. But, having nothing better to do, he seemed quite inclined to cultivate the acquaintance of the young Inglises, and came to the bridge house a good deal. Once or twice he brought his little sisters and Violet down in the boat to tea, and several times he came there after having been down the river fishing. Once or twice David, coming home earlier than the others, found him sitting quietly with his mother and little Mary, to all appearance perfectly satisfied with the entertainment he was receiving; and his entertainers seemed satisfied too. David began to consider these frequent visits as an infliction to be borne patiently, and Violet adhered to her first opinion; but, with Jem and the children, he was a great favourite. Even the mother was inclined to make excuses for his faults, and was very kind to him when he came. The mother knew more about him than the rest did, for he told her a great deal about himself and his past life during the quiet afternoons he passed with her and little Mary. And having seen more, and suffered more, she was inclined to have more patience with his weaknesses than they.
It had been understood all along, that, as soon as Philip’s course at the university was over, he was to take his place in his father’s office, and to give all his time and thoughts to his father’s business. He had never been quite pleased with the idea, and had all along hoped that something might happen to render unnecessary a step so distasteful to him. Nothing had happened, and he was inclined to fancy that he was making a sacrifice to his father’s business and his father’s desire for wealth, and to claim sympathy because of this.
“And would you be a great help to your father?” asked Mrs Inglis, one day, when he had got thus far.
“I don’t know. I am sure I don’t think so, hating business as I do. But he must think so, or he would not be so bent on my coming to the office and tying myself down. It will come to that, I dare say,” said he, with a sigh.
Mrs Inglis smiled.
“Is it not possible that he may wish it for your sake rather than his own? And how do you know that you hate business? You have never given it a fair trial, have you?”
“No, I have not tried it steadily,” said he, answering her last question first. “But then one can tell what one does not like without trying it very long. I dare say my father thinks it would be a good thing for me to fix myself at the bank. But a man must judge for himself before he submits to be tied down for life.”
“But is it not possible that it is the tying down which is distasteful? And every man must submit to be tied down to something. What would you like to do better.”
“Oh! almost anything. I should like the profession of the law better.” And then he added, after a little, “I should like it better for one thing. I need not enter an office till the autumn.”
“I am afraid it is the tying down that is the trouble, after all,” said she.