He felt that, on his side at any rate, the relationship was artificial; that, however unnatural it might seem, he really had to whip himself up to a proper appreciation of his father’s virtues. A sense of veiled but radical antagonism underlay all their dealings with each other; and at times this hidden thing, that Edwin held in such dread, came so perilously near to the surface as to threaten an open rupture. The question of Edwin’s allowance created one of these dangerous situations. Edwin knew that it was impossible for him to live the ordinary life of a medical student in North Bromwich without one; but the distaste for speaking of money matters, which arose from his delicate appreciation of his father’s finances, had made it difficult to approach the subject. At last he had screwed up his courage to the point of making a very modest demand, and his father, instead of realising the difficulty he had found in doing so, had hedged in a way that made Edwin feel himself a hard and mercenary parasite. “All right, father, we won’t say anything more about it,” he said, comforting himself with the assurance that in a couple of years he would be qualified and in a position to earn his own living and pay his way. On the strength of this, and with his eyes wide open, he ran up a number of small tailors’ bills in North Bromwich; and all would have been well if Mr. Ingleby, in a fit of absent-mindedness, had not opened these incriminating documents and leapt to the conclusion that his son was going rapidly to the dogs. An unfortunate scene followed. “I suppose you realise, Edwin,” he said, “that you are a minor, and that while you are under age I am responsible for these bills?” “I’ve not the least intention of letting you pay them,” said Edwin. “I’m afraid I have no alternative. I want you to tell me truthfully if there are any others.” “Of course there are others. Please don’t bother about them. In a little while I shall be able to pay them.”