CHAPTERS 46 AND 47 Phineas had certainly no desire to make love by an ambassador at second hand. He had given no commission to Lady Laura, and was, as the reader is aware, quite ignorant of what was being done and said on his behalf. He had asked no more from Lady Laura than an opportunity of speaking for himself, and that he had asked almost with a conviction that by so asking he would turn his friend into an enemy. He had read but little of the workings of Lady Laura's heart towards himself and had no idea of the assistance she was anxious to give him. She had never told him that she was willing to sacrifice her brother on his behalf, and of course had not told him that she was willing also to sacrifice herself. Nor, when she wrote to him one June morning and told him that Violet would be found in Portman Square alone that afternoon, naming an hour and explaining that Miss Effingham would be there to meet herself and her father, but that at such an hour she would be certainly alone. Did he even then know how much she was prepared to do for him? The short note was signed L, and then there came a long post script. Ask for me, she said in a post script, I shall be there later, and I have told them to bid you wait. I can give you no hope of success, but if you choose to try, you can do so. If you do not come, I shall know that you have changed your mind. I shall not think the worse of you, and your secret will be safe with me. I do that which you have asked me to do, simply because you have asked it. Burn this at once, because I ask it. Phineas destroyed the note, tearing it into atoms the moment that he had read it and re-read it. Of course he would go to Portman Square at the hour named. Of course he would take his chance. He was not buoyed up by much of hope, but even though there were no hope, he would take his chance. When Lord Brentford had first told Phineas of his promotion, he had also asked the new Lord of the Treasury to make a certain communication on his behalf to his son. This Phineas had found himself obliged to promise to do, and he had done it. The letter had been difficult enough to write, but he had written it. After having made the promise, he had found himself bound to keep it. Dear Lord Chiltern, he had commenced, I will not think that there was anything in our late encounter to prevent my so addressing you. I now write at the instance of your father, who has heard nothing of our little affair. Then he explained at length Lord Brentford's wishes as he understood them. Pray come home, he said, finishing his letter. Touching V.E., I feel that I am bound to tell you that I still mean to try my fortune, but that I have no ground for hoping that my fortune will be good. Since the day on the sands I have never met her but in society. I know you will be glad to hear that my wound was nothing, and I think you will be glad to hear that I have got my foot on to the ladder of promotion. Yours always. Phineas Spinn. Now he had to try his fortune, that fortune of which he had told Lord Chiltern that he had no reason for hoping that it would be good. He went direct from his office at the treasury to Portman Square, resolving that he would take no trouble as to his dress, simply washing his hands and brushing his hair as though he were going down to the house, and he knocked at the Earl's door exactly at the hour named by Lady Laura. Miss Effingham, he said, I am so glad to find you alone. Yes, she said, laughing, I am alone, a poor, unprotected female, but I fear nothing. I have strong reason for believing that Lord Brentford is somewhere about, and Palm Fret the Butler, who has known me since I was a baby, is a hostin himself. With such allies you can have nothing to fear, he replied, attempting to carry on her little jest. Nor even without them, Mr. Finn, we unprotected females in these days are so self-reliant that our natural protectors fall off from us, finding themselves to be no longer wanted. Now with you, what can I fear? Nothing as I hope. There used to be a time, and that not so long ago, either, when young gentlemen and ladies were thought to be very dangerous to each other if they were left alone, but propriety is less rampant now, and upon the whole virtue and morals, with discretion and all that kind of thing, have been the gainers, don't you think so? I am sure of it. All the same, but I don't like to be caught in a trap, Mr. Finn. In a trap? Yes, in a trap. Is there no trap here? If you will say so, I will acknowledge myself to be adult and will beg your pardon. I hardly know what you call a trap. You were told that I was here? He paused a moment before he replied, Yes, I was told. I call that a trap. Am I to blame? I don't say that you said it, but you use it. Miss Effingham, of course I have used it. You must know. I think you must know that I have that to say to you, which has made me long for such an opportunity as this. And therefore you have called in the assistance of your friend. It is true. In such matters you should never talk to anyone, Mr. Finn. If you cannot fight your own battle, no one can fight it for you. Miss Effingham, do you remember our ride at Salisby? Very well, as if it were yesterday. And do you remember that I asked you a question which you have never answered? I did answer it, as well as I knew how, so that I might tell you a truth without hurting you. It was necessary, is necessary, that I should be hurt sorely or made perfectly happy. Violet Effingham, I have come to you to ask you to be my wife, to tell you that I love you, and to ask for your love in return. Whatever may be my fate, the question must be asked and an answer must be given. I have not hoped that you should tell me that you love me. For what then have you hoped? For not much indeed, but if for anything, then for some chance that you might tell me so hereafter.  I give you my word of that. Can you never love me?  No, I believe never. I do not think I shall ever wish you to be my husband. You ask me to be plain, and I must be plain. Is it because he paused, hardly knowing what the question was, which he proposed to himself, to ask? It is for no because, for no cause except that simple one which should make any girl refuse any man whom she did not love. Mr. Finn, I could say pleasant things to you on any other subject than this, because I like you. I know that I have nothing to justify my suit. You have everything to justify it. At least I am bound to presume that you have. If you love me, you are justified. You know that I love you. I am sorry that it should ever have been so. Very sorry. I can only hope that I have not been in fault. Will you try to love me? No. Why should I try? If any trying were necessary, I would try rather not to love you. Why should I try to do that which would displease everybody belonging to me? For yourself I admit your right to address me, and tell you frankly that it would not be in vain if I loved you. But I tell you as frankly that such a marriage would not please those whom I am bound to try to please. He paused a moment before he spoke further. I shall wait, he said, and come again. What am I to say to that? Do not tease me, so that I be driven to treat you with lack of courtesy. See, Laura is so much attached to you, and Mr. Kennedy, and Lord Brentford, and indeed I may say, I myself also, that I trust there may be nothing to mar our good fellowship. Come, Mr. Finn, say that you will take an answer, and I will give you my hand. Give it me, said he. She gave him her hand, and he put it up to his lips and pressed it. I will wait and come again, he said. I will assuredly come again. And he turned from her and went out of the house. At the corner of the square he saw Lady Laura's carriage, but did not stop to speak to her, and she also saw him. So you have had a visitor here, said Lady Laura, to Violet. Yes, I have been caught in the trap. Poor mouse, and has the cat made a meal of you? I fancy he has, after his fashion.  You wrong him there. I think not, Laura. I do not mean to say that he would not have liked me to accept him. But if I can see inside his bosom such a little job as that he has now done will be looked back upon as one of the past pleasures of his life, not as a pain. End of Chapter 46. Chapter 47. Mr. Mild May's Bill. It will be necessary that we should go back in our story for a very short period in order that the reader may be told that Fenneas Finn was duly re-elected at Lofton after his appointment at the Treasury Board. There was some little trouble at Lofton, and something more of expense than he had before encountered. Mr. Quintus's slide absolutely came down, and was proposed by Mr. Vellum for the borough. Mr. Vellum, being a gentleman, learned it in the law, and hostile to the interests of the noble owner of Salisby, was able to raise a little trouble against our hero. Mr. Slide was proposed by Mr. Vellum, and seconded by Mr. Vellum's clerk, though as it afterwards appeared Mr. Vellum's clerk was not in truth an elector, and went to the pole like a man. He received three votes, and at twelve o'clock withdrew. This in itself could hardly have afforded compensation for the expense which Mr. Slide, or his backers, must have encountered. But he had an opportunity of making a speech, every word of which was reported in the people's banner. And if the speech was made in the language given in the report, Mr. Slide was really possessed of some oratorical power. Most of those who read the speech in the columns of the people's banner were probably not aware how favorably an opportunity of retouching his sentences in type had been given to Mr. Slide by the fact of his connection with the newspaper. The speech had been very severe upon our hero, and though the speaker had been so hooded and pelted at Lufton as to have been altogether inaudible, so maltreated that in point of fact he had not been able to speak above a tenth part of the speech at all, nevertheless the speech did give Phineas a certain amount of pain. Why Phineas should have read it, who can tell? But who was there that abstains from reading that which is printed in abuse of himself? In the speech, as it was printed, Mr. Slide declared that he had no thought of being returned for the borough. He knew too well how the borough was managed, what slaves the electors were, how they groaned under a tyranny from which hitherto they had been unable to release themselves. Of course the Earl's nominee, his lackey, as the honorable gentleman might be called, would be returned. The Earl could order them to return whichever of his lackeys he pleased. There is something peculiarly pleasing to the democratic ear in the word lackey. One serving a big man, whatever the service may be, is the big man's lackey in the people's banner. The speech throughout was very bitter. Mr. Phineas Finn, who had previously served in Parliament as the lackey of an Irish Earl, and had been turned off by him, had now fallen into the service of the English Earl and was the lackey chosen for the present occasion. But he, Quintus Slide, who boasted himself to be a man of the people, he could tell them that the days of their thralldom were coming to an end, and that their enfranchisement was near an end. That friend of the people, Mr. Turnbull, had a claws in his breeches pocket which he would either force down the unwilling throat of Mr. Mildmay, or else drive the imbecile premier from office by carrying it in his teeth. Lofton, as Lofton, must be destroyed, but it should be born again and a better birth as a part of a real electoral district, sending a real member, chosen by a real constituency, to a real Parliament. In those days, and they would come soon, Mr. Quintus Slide rather thought that Mr. Phineas Finn would be found nowhere, and he rather thought also that when he showed himself again, as he certainly should do, in the midst of that democratic electoral district as the popular candidate for the honour of representing it in Parliament, that democratic electoral district would accord to him a reception very different from that which he was now receiving from the Earl's lackeys in the parliamentary village of Lofton. A prettier bit of fiction than these sentences as composing a part of any speech delivered, or proposed to be delivered at Lofton, Phineas thought he had never seen, and when he read at the close of the speech that though the Earl's hired bullies did their worst, the remarks of Mr. Slide were received by the people with reiterated cheering. He threw himself back in his chair at the treasury and roared. The poor fellow had been three minutes on his legs, had received three rotten eggs and one dead dog, and had retired. But not the half of the speech as printed in the people's banner has been quoted. The sins of Phineas, who in spite of his inability to open his mouth in public, had been made a treasury hack by the aristocratic influence, by aristocratic influence not confined to the male sex, were described at great length and in such language that Phineas for a while was fool enough to think that it would be his duty to belabor Mr. Slide with a horse whip. This notion, however, did not endure long with him, and when Mr. Monk told him that things of that kind came as a matter of course, he was comforted. But he found it much more difficult to obtain comfort when he weighed the arguments brought forward against the abominations of such a burl as that for which he sat, and reflected that if Mr. Turnbull brought forward his clause, he, Phineas Finn, will be bound to vote against the clause, knowing the clause to be right, because he was a servant of the government. The arguments, even though they appeared in the people's banner, were true arguments, and he had on one occasion admitted their truth to his friend Lady Laura in the presence of that great cabinet minister, her husband. What business has such a man as that down there? Is there a single creature who wants him? Lady Laura had said. I don't suppose anybody does want Mr. Quintus Slide, Phineas had replied, but I am disposed to think the electors should choose the man they do want and that at present they have no choice left to them. They are quite satisfied, said Lady Laura angrily. Then Lady Laura continued Phineas, that alone should be sufficient to prove that their privilege of returning a member to Parliament is too much for them. We can't defend it. It is defended by tradition, said Mr. Kennedy, and by its great utility, said Lady Laura, bowing to the young member who was present, and forgetting that very useless old gentleman, her cousin, who had sat for the borough for many years. In this country it doesn't do to go too fast, said Mr. Kennedy. And then the mixture of vulgarity, falsehood and pretense, said Lady Laura, shuddering as her mind recurred to the fact that Mr. Quintus Slide had contaminated Lufton by his presence. I am told that they hardly let him leave the place alive. Whatever Mr. Kennedy and Lady Laura might think about Lufton and the general question of small boroughs, it was found by the government to their great cost that Mr. Turnbull's clause was a reality. After two months of hard work, all questions of franchise had been settled, raiding and renting, new and new fangled, fancy franchises and those which no one fancied, franchises for boroughs and franchises for counties, franchises single, dual, three-cornered and four-sided, by various clauses to which the committee of the whole house had agreed after some score of divisions, the matter of the franchise had been settled. No doubt there was the house of lords and there might yet be shipwreck. But it was generally believed that the lords would hardly look at the bill, that they would not even venture on an amendment. The lords would only be too happy to let the matter be settled by the commons themselves. But then after the franchise came redistribution. How sick of the subject were all members of the government, no one could tell who did not see their weary faces. The whole house was sick, having been whipped into various lobbies night after night during the heat of the summer for weeks past. Redistribution. Why should there be any redistribution? They had got or would get a beautiful franchise. Could they not see what that would do for them? Why redistribute anything? But alas it was too late to go back to so blessed an idea as that. Redistribution they must have. But there should be as little redistribution as possible. Men were sick of it all, it would not be exigent. Something should be done for overgrown counties, something for new towns which had prospered in brick and mortar. It would be easy to crush up a peck at burl or two, a burl that had been discovered in its sin. And a few burls now blessed with two members might consent to be blessed only with one. Fifteen small clauses might settle the redistribution in spite of Mr. Turnbull. If only Mr. Dobiny would be good-natured. Neither the weather, which was very hot, nor the tedium of the session, which had been very great, nor the anxiety of ministers, which was very pressing, had any effect in impairing the energy of Mr. Turnbull. He was as instant, as oratorical, as hostile, as indignant about redistribution as he had been about the franchise. He had been sure then, and he was sure now, that ministers desired to burk the question, to deceive the people, to produce a bill that should be no bill. He brought out his claws and made left in his instance. Would the honorable gentleman who sat lowest on the treasury bench, who at this moment was in sweet confidential intercourse with the right honorable gentleman now president of the Board of Trade, who had once been a friend of the people, would the young lord of the treasury get up in his place and tell them that no peer of parliament had at present a voice in sending a member to their House of Commons, that no peer would have a voice if this bill, as proposed by the government, were passed in its present useless, ineffectual, conservative, and most dishonest form? Phineas, who replied to this, and who told Mr. Turnbull that he himself could not answer for any peers, but that he thought it probable that most peers would, by their opinions, somewhat influence the opinions of some electors, was thought to have got out of his difficulty very well. But there was the claws of Mr. Turnbull to be dealt with. A clause directly disfranchising seven single-winged boroughs, of which Lufton was of course one, a clause to which the government must either submit or object. Submission would be certain defeat in one way, and objection would be as certain defeat in another, if the gentleman on the other side were not disposed to assist the ministers. It was said that the cabinet was divided. Mr. Gresham and Mr. Monk were for letting the seven boroughs go. Mr. Mildmay could not bring himself to obey Mr. Turnbull, and Mr. Palacer supported him. When Mr. Mildmay was told that Mr. Dobbany would certainly go into the same lobby with Mr. Turnbull respecting the seven boroughs, he was reported to have said that in that case Mr. Dobbany must be prepared with the government. Mr. Dobbany made a beautiful speech about the seven boroughs, the seven sins and seven stars and seven churches and seven lamps. He would make no-party question of this. Someone who usually acted with him would vote as their own sense of right or wrong directed them. From which expression of a special sanction it was considered that these gentlemen were not accustomed to exercise the privilege now accorded to them. But in regarding the question as one of right and wrong, and in looking at what he believed to be both the wish of the country and its interests, he, Mr. Dobbany, he himself being simply a humble member of that house, must support the clause of the honorable gentleman, almost all those to whom had been surrendered the privilege of using their own judgment for that occasion only, used it discreetly, as their chief had used it himself, and Mr. Turnbull carried his clause by a majority of fifteen. It was then three a.m. and Mr. Gresham, rising after the division, said that his right honorable friend, the First Lord of the Treasury, was too tired to return to the house, and had requested him to state that the government would declare their purpose at six p.m. on the following evening. Phineas, though he had made his little speech and answered to Mr. Turnbull with good-humored flippancy, had recorded his vote in favor of the seven boroughs with a sore heart. Much as he disliked Mr. Turnbull, he knew that Mr. Turnbull was right in this. He had spoken to Mr. Monk on the subject, as that were asking Mr. Monk's permission to throw up his office and vote against Mr. Mildmay. But Mr. Monk was angry with him, telling him that his conscience was of that restless, uneasy sort which is neither useful nor manly. We all know, said Mr. Monk, and none better than Mr. Mildmay, that we cannot justify such a borough as leftened by the theory of our parliamentary representation. Any more than we can justify the fact that Hunt can sure should return as many members as the East Riding. There must be compromises, and you should trust to others who have studied the matter more thoroughly than you, to say how far the compromise should go at the present moment. It is the influence of the peer, not the paucity of the electors, said Phineas. And has no peer any influence in a county? Would you disfranchise Westmoreland? Believe me, Finn, if you want to be useful, you must submit yourself in such matters to those with whom you act. Phineas had no answer to make, but he was not happy in his mind, and he was the less happy, perhaps, because he was very sure that Mr. Mildmay would be beaten. Mr. Lowe, in these days, harassed him sorely. Mr. Lowe was very keen against such boroughs as Lufton, declaring that Mr. Dobbin, he was quite right to join his standard to that of Mr. Turnbull of such an issue. Mr. Lowe was the reformer now, and Phineas found himself obliged to fight a losing battle on behalf of unacknowledged abuse. He never went near Bunce, but unfortunately for him Bunce caught him once in the street and showed him no mercy. Lowe was a little heavy on you in the banner the other day. Eh, Mr. Finn? Too heavy, as I told him. Mr. Slide can be just as heavy as he pleases, Bunce. That's in course. The press is free, thank God, as yet, but it wasn't any good rattling away at the Earl's little borough when it's sure to go. Of course it'll go, Mr. Finn. I think it will. The whole seven on him. The else couldn't but do it. They tell me it's all Mr. Mildmay's own work sticking out for keeping on him. He's very old and so will forgive him, but he must go, Mr. Finn. We shall know all about that soon, Bunce. If you don't get another seat, Mr. Finn, I suppose we shall see you back at the inn. I hope we may. It's better than being a member for Luffton, Mr. Finn. You may be sure of that. And then Mr. Bunce passed on. Mr. Turnbull carried his claws and Luffton was doomed. Luffton and the other six deadly sins were neathomatized, exorcised, and finally got rid of out of the world by the voices of the gentlemen who had been proclaiming the beauty of such pleasant vices all their lives and who in their hearts hated all changes that tended towards popular representation. But not the less was Mr. Mildmay beaten, and in accordance with the promise made by his first lieutenant immediately after the vote was taken, the prime minister came forward on the next evening and made his statement. He had already put his resignation into the hands of Her Majesty, and Her Majesty had graciously accepted it. He was very old, and felt that the time had come in which it be hoped him to retire into that leisure which he thought he had perhaps earned. He had hoped to carry this bill as the last act of his political life, but he was too old, too stiff, as he said in his prejudices, to bend further than he had bent already, and he must leave the completion of the matter in other hands. Her Majesty had sent for Mr. Gresham, and Mr. Gresham had already seen Her Majesty. Mr. Gresham and his other colleagues, though they dissented from the clause which had been carried by the United Efforts of Gentleman opposite to him, and of gentlemen below him on his own side of the house, were younger men than he, and went for the country's sake, and for the sake of Her Majesty, and ever to carry the bill through. There would then, of course, be a dissolution, and the future government would no doubt depend on the choice of the country. From all which it was understood that Mr. Gresham was to go on with the bill to a conclusion, whatever might be the divisions carried against him, and that a new Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs must be chosen, Phineas understood also that he had lost his seat at Lufton. For the borough of Lufton there would never again be an election. If I had been Mr. Mildmay I would have thrown the bill up altogether, Lord Brentwood said afterwards, but of course it was not for me to interfere. The session was protracted for two months after that, beyond the time at which Grouse should have been shot, and by the twenty-third of August became the law of the land. I shall never get over it, said Mr. Rattler to Mr. Phine, seated one terribly hot evening on a bench behind the cabinet ministers. Never. I don't suppose such a session for work was ever known before. Think what it is to have to keep men together in August with a thermometer at eighty-one degrees and the river stinking like, like the very mischief. Mr. Rattler, however, did not die. On the last day of the session Lawrence Fitzgibbon resigned. Rumors reached the ears of Phineus as to the cause of this, but no certain cause was told him. It was said that Lord Cantrip had insisted upon it, Lawrence having by mischance been called upon for some official statement during an unfortunate period of absence. There was, however, a mystery about it, but the mystery was not half so wonderful as a triumph to Phineus when Mr. Gresham offered him the place. But I shall have no seat, said Phineus. We shall none of us have seats tomorrow, said Mr. Gresham. But I shall be at a loss to find a place to stand for. The election will not come on till November and you must look about you. Both Mr. Monk and Lord Brentford seem to think you will be in the house. And so the bill was carried and the session was ended. CHAPTER 48 THE DUKE By the middle of September there was assembled a large party at matching Priory, a country mansion belonging to Mr. Plantagenet Palisare. The men had certainly been chosen in reference to their political feelings and position, for there was not a guest in the house who had voted for Mr. Turnbull's clause, or the wife or daughter or sister of anyone who had so voted. Indeed in these days politics ran so high that among politicians all social gatherings were brought together with some reference to the state of parties. Phineus was invited, and when he arrived at matching he found that half the cabinet was there. Mr. Kennedy was not there, nor was Lady Laura. Mr. Monk was there, and the Duke, with the Duchess and Mr. Gresham and Lord Thrift. Mrs. Max Goosler was there also, and Mrs. Bonteen. Mr. Bonteen being detained somewhere out of the way, and the violent effingham was expected in two days, and Lord Chiltern at the end of the week. Lady Glencora took an opportunity of imparting this latter information to Phineus very soon after his arrival, and Phineus, as he watched her eye and her mouth while she spoke, was quite sure that Lady Glencora knew the story of the duel. I shall be delighted to see him again, said Phineus. That is all right, said Lady Glencora. There were also there Mr. and Mrs. Gray, who were great friends of the Palisers, and on the very day on which Phineus reached matching, at half an hour before the time for dressing, the Duke of Omnium arrived. Now Mr. Palisare was the Duke's nephew and heir, and the Duke of Omnium was a very great person indeed. I hardly know why it should have been so, but the Duke of Omnium was certainly a greater man in public estimation than the other Duke then present, the Duke of St. Bungae. The Duke of St. Bungae was a useful man, and had been so all his life, sitting in cabinets and serving his country, constant as any peer in the House of Lords, always ready to take on his own shoulders any troublesome work required of him, than whom Mr. Mildmay and Mr. Mildmay's predecessor at the head of the Liberal Party had had no more devoted adherent. But the Duke of Omnium had never yet done a day's work on behalf of his country. They both wore the garter, the Duke of St. Bungae having earned it by service, the Duke of Omnium having been decorated with the blue ribbon, because he was Duke of Omnium. The one was a moral good man, a good husband, a good father, and a good friend. The other did not bear quite so high a reputation. But men and women thought but little of the Duke of St. Bungae, while the other Duke was regarded with an almost reverential awe. I think the secret lay in the simple fact that the Duke of Omnium had not been common in the eyes of the people. He had contrived to envelop himself in something of the ancient mystery of wealth and rank. Within three minutes of the Duke's arrival, Mrs. Bonteen, with an air of great importance, whispered a word to Phineus. "'He has come! He arrived exactly at seven!' "'Who has come?' Phineus asked. "'The Duke of Omnium!' she said, almost reprimanding him by her tone of voice for his indifference. There has been a great doubt whether or no he would show himself at last. Lady Glencora told me that he never will pledge himself. I am so glad he has come.' "'I don't think I ever saw him,' said Phineus. "'Oh, I have seen him—a magnificent-looking man. I think it is so very nice of Lady Glencora getting him to meet us. It is very rarely that he will join in a great party, but they say Lady Glencora can do anything with him since the air was born. I suppose you have heard all about that?' "'No,' said Phineus. "'I have heard nothing of the air, but I know that there are three or four babies. There was no air, you know, for a year and a half, and they were all eaux de ses poires, and the Duke was very nearly quarreling with his nephew and Mr. Palacere. You know, it had very nearly come to a separation.' "'I don't know anything at all about it,' said Phineus, who was not very fond of the lady who was giving him the information. "'It is so, I can assure you, but since the boy was born Lady Glencora can do anything with the Duke. She made him go to Ascot last spring, and he presented her with the favourite for one of the races, on the very morning the horse ran. They say he gave three thousand pounds for him.' And did Lady Glencora win? "'No, the horse lost, and Mr. Palacere has never known what to do with him since. But it was very pretty of the Duke, was it not?' Phineus, though he had intended to show Mrs. Bonteen how little he thought about the Duke of Omnium, how small was his respect for a great peer who took no part in politics, could not protect himself from a certain feeling of anxiety as to the aspect and gate and words of the man of whom people thought so much, of whom he had heard so often, and of whom he had seen so little. He told himself that the Duke of Omnium should be no more to him than any other man, but yet the Duke of Omnium was more to him than other men. When he came down into the drawing-room he was angry with himself and stood apart, and was then angry with himself again because he stood apart. Why should he make a difference in his own bearing because there was such a man in the company? And yet he could not avoid it. When he entered the room the Duke was standing in a large bow window, and two or three ladies and two or three men were standing round him. Phineus would not go near the group, telling himself that he would not approach a man so grand as was the Duke of Omnium. He saw Madame Max Gussler among the party, and after a while he saw her retreat. As she retreated Phineus knew that some words from Madame Max Gussler had not been received with the graciousness which she had expected. There was the prettiest smile in the world on the lady's face, and she took a corner on a sofa with an air of perfect satisfaction. But yet Phineus knew that she had received a wound. "'I called twice I knew in London,' said Phineus, coming up close to her, but was not fortunate enough to find you.' "'Yes, but you came so late in the season as to make it impossible that there should be any arrangements for our meeting. What can any woman do when a gentleman calls on her in August?' I came in July. "'Yes, you did. On the thirty-first. I keep the most accurate record of all such things, Mr. Phine. But let us hope that we may have better luck next year. In the meantime, we can only enjoy the good things that are going.'" "'Socially or politically,' Madam Gussler. "'Oh, socially. How can I mean anything else when the Duke of Omnium is here? I feel so much taller at being in the same house with him. Do not you.  I think I once saw the back of a hat in the park, and somebody told me that the Duke's head was inside it. And you have never seen him but that once?' Never but that once, till now. And do not you feel elated?' "'Of course I do. For what do you take me, Madam Gussler?' "'I do, immensely. I believe him to be a fool, and I never heard of his doing a kind act to anybody in my life.' Not when he gave the race-horse to Lady Glencora. I wonder whether that was true. Did you ever hear of such an absurdity? As I was saying, I don't think he ever did anything for anybody. But then, you know, to be Duke of Omnium. It isn't necessary, is it, that a Duke of Omnium should do anything except be Duke of Omnium?' At this moment Lady Glencora came up to Phineas and took him across to the Duke. The Duke had expressed a desire to be introduced to him. Phineas, half-pleased and half-disgusted, had no alternative and followed Lady Glencora. The Duke shook hands with him and made a little bow, and said something about the garotters which Phineas, in his confusion, did not quite understand. He tried to reply as he would have replied to anybody else. But the weight of the Duke's majesty was too much for him, and he bungled. The Duke made another little bow, and in a moment was speaking a word of condescension to some other favoured individual. Phineas retreated altogether disgusted, hating the Duke, but hating himself worse. But he would not retreat in the direction of Madame Max Goesler. It might suit that lady to take an instant little revenge for her discomforture, but it did not suit him to do so. The question with him would be, whether in some future part of his career it might not be his duty to assist in putting down Duke's of Omnium. At dinner Phineas sat between Mrs. Bonteen and the Duchess of St. Bungay, and did not find himself very happy. At the other end of the table the Duke, the Great Duke, was seated at Lady Glencora's right hand, and on his other side Fortune had placed Madame Max Goesler. The greatest interest which Phineas had during the dinner was in watching the operations, the triumphantly successful operations of that lady. Before dinner she had been wounded by the Duke. The Duke had not condescended to accord the honour of his little bow of graciousness to some little flattering morsel of wit which the lady had uttered on his behoof. She had said a sharp word or two in her momentary anger to Phineas, but when Fortune was so good to her, in that matter of her place at dinner, she was not full enough to throw away her chance. Without the soup and fish she was very quiet. She said a word or two after her first glass of champagne. The Duke refused two dishes, one after another, and then she glided into conversation.  Didn't you think the session was very long, Mr. Finn, said the Duchess to Phineas? Very long indeed, Duchess, said Phineas, with his attention still fixed on Madame Max Goussler. The Duke found it very troublesome. I daresay he did, said Phineas. That Duke and that Duchess were no more than any other man and any other man's wife. The session had not been longer to the Duke of St. Bungay than to all the public servants. Phineas had the greatest possible respect for the Duke of St. Bungay, but he could not take much interest in the wailings of the Duchess on her husband's behalf. And things do seem to be so very uncomfortable now, said the Duchess, thinking partly of the resignation of Mr. Mildmay, and partly of the fact that her own old peculiar maid, who had lived with her for thirty years, had retired into private life. Not so very bad, Duchess, I hope, said Phineas, observing that at this moment Madame Max Goussler's eyes were brilliant with triumph. Then there came upon him a sudden ambition that he would like to cut out the Duke of Omnium in the estimation of Madame Max Goussler. The brightness of Madame Max Goussler's eyes had not been thrown away upon our hero. Violet Effingham came at the appointed time, and to the surprise of Phineas was brought to matching by Lord Brentford. Phineas at first thought that it was intended that the Earl and his son should meet and make up their quarrel at Mr. Palacere's house. But Lord Brentford stayed only one night, and Phineas, on the next morning, heard the whole history of his coming and going from Violet. I have almost been on my knees to him to stay, she said.  And what did he say? He put his arm round me, and kissed me, and—and— I cannot tell you all that he said, but it ended in this—that if children can be made to go to Salisbury, fatted calves without stint will be killed. I shall do all I can to make him go, and so must you, Mr. Finn. Of course that silly affair in foreign parts is not to make any difference between you two. Phineas smiled, and said he would do his best, and looked up into her face, and was just able to talk to her as though things were going comfortably with him. But his heart was very cold. As Violet had spoken to him about Lord Chiltern, there had come upon him for the first time—for the first time since he had known that Lord Chiltern had been refused—an idea, a doubt, whether even yet Violet might not become Lord Chiltern's wife. His heart was very sad, but he struggled on, declaring that it was incumbent on them both to bring together the father and son. I am so glad to hear you say so, Mr. Finn, said Violet. I really do believe that you can do more towards it than anyone else. Lord Chiltern would think nothing of my advice, would hardly speak to me on such a subject. But he respects you, as well as likes you, and not the less because of what has occurred. How was it that Violet should know ought of the respect or liking felt by this rejected suitor, for that other suitor, who had also been rejected? And how was it that she was thus able to talk of one of them to the other, as though neither of them had ever come forward with such a suit? Phineas felt his position to be so strange as to be almost burdensome. He had told Violet, when she had refused him very plainly, that he should come again to her and ask once more for the great gift which he coveted. But he could not ask again now. In the first place there was that in her manner which made him sure that were he to do so he would ask in vain. And then he felt that she was placing a special confidence in him, against which he would commit a sin were he to use her present intimacy with him for the purposes of making love. They too were to put their shoulders together to help Lord Chiltern, and while doing so he could not continue a suit which would be felt by both of them to be hostile to Lord Chiltern. There might be opportunity for a chance word, and if so the chance word should be spoken, but he could not make a deliberate attack such as he had made in Portman Square. Violet also probably understood that she had not now been caught in a mousetrap. The Duke was to spend four days at matching, and on the third day, the day before Lord Chiltern was expected, he was to be seen riding with Madame Max Gursler by his side. Madame Max Gursler was known as a perfect horsewoman, one indeed who was rather fond of going a little fast on horseback, and who rode well to Hounds. But the Duke seldom moved out of a walk, and on this occasion Madame Max was as steady in her seat, and almost as slow as the mounted ghost in Don Juan. But it was said by some there, especially by Mrs. Bonteen, that the conversation between them was not slow. And on the next morning the Duke and Madame Max Gursler were together again before luncheon, standing on a terrace at the back of the house, looking down on a party who were playing croquet on the lawn. "'Do you never play?' said the Duke. "'Oh, yes, one does everything a little. I am sure you would play well. Why do you not play now?' "'No, I shall not play now. I should like to see you, with your mallet.' "'I am sorry, your grace cannot be gratified. I have played croquet till I am tired of it, and have come to think it is only fit for boys and girls. The great thing is to give them opportunities for flirting, and it does that. And do you never flirt, Madame Gursler? Never at croquet, Duke. And what with you is the choicest time? That depends on so many things, and so much on the chosen person. What do you recommend?' "'Ah, I am so ignorant. I can recommend nothing.' "'What do you say to a mountaintop at dawn on a summer day?' asked Madame Max Gursler. "'You make me shiver,' said the Duke. "'Or a boat on a lake on a summer evening, or a good lead after hounds with nobody else within three fields, or the bottom of a salt mine, or the deck of an ocean steamer, or a military hospital in time of war, or a railway journey from Paris to Marseilles.' "'Madame Max Gursler, you have the most uncomfortable ideas.' "'I have no doubt your grace has tried each of them, successfully. But perhaps, after all, a comfortable chair over a good fire in a pretty room beats everything. "'I think it does, certainly,' said the Duke. Then he whispered something at which Madame Max Gursler blushed and smiled, and immediately after that she followed those who had already gone in to lunch. Mrs. Bonteen had been hovering round the spot on the terrace on which the Duke and Madame Max Gursler had been standing, looking on with envious eyes, meditating some attack, some interruption, some excuse for an interpolation, but her courage had failed her and she had not dared to approach. The Duke had known nothing of the hovering propinquity of Mrs. Bonteen, but Madame Gursler had seen, and had understood it all. "'Dear Mrs. Bonteen,' she said afterwards, "'why did you not come and join us? The Duke was so pleasant.' "'Two is company, and three is none,' said Mrs. Bonteen, who in her anger was hardly able to choose her words quite as well as she might have done had she been more cool. "'Our friend, Madame Max, has made quite a new conquest,' said Mrs. Bonteen, to Lady Glyncora. "'I am so pleased,' said Lady Glyncora, with apparently unaffected delight. "'It is such a great thing to get anybody to amuse my uncle. You see, everybody cannot talk to him, and he will not talk to everybody.' "'He talked enough to her in all conscience,' said Mrs. Bonteen, who was now more angry than ever.' CHAPTER 49 The Duelist's Meat Lord Chilton arrived, and Phineas was a little nervous as to their meeting. He came back from shooting on the day in question, and was told by the servant that Lord Chilton was in the house. Phineas went into the billiard-room in his knicker-bockers, thinking probably that he might be there, and then into the drawing-room, and at last into the library, but Lord Chilton was not to be found. At last he came across Violet. "'Have you seen him?' he asked. "'Yes, he was with me half an hour since walking round the mountains. And how is he? Come, tell me something about him.' I never knew him to be more pleasant. He would give no promise about Salisbury, but he did not say that he would not go. "'Does he know that I am here?' "'Yes, I told him so. I told him how much pleasure I should have in seeing you two together as friends.' And what did he say? He laughed, and said you were the best fellow in the world. You see, I am obliged to be explicit.' "'But why did he laugh?' Phineas asked. "'He did not tell me, but I suppose it was because he was thinking of a little trip he once took to Belgium, and he perceived that I knew all about it.' "'I wonder who told you?' "'Oh, but never mind. I do not mean to ask any questions. As I do not like that our first meeting should be before all the people in the drawing-room, I will go to him in his own-room.' "'Do, do, that will be so nice of you,' Phineas sent his card up by a servant, and a few minutes was standing with his hand on the lock of Lord Chilton's door. The last time he had seen this man they had met with pistols in their hands to shoot at each other, and Lord Chilton had in truth done his very best to shoot his opponent. The cause of quarrel was the same between them as ever. Phineas had not given up violet and had no intention of giving her up, and he had received no intimation whatever from his rival that there was to be a truce between them. Phineas had indeed written in friendship to Lord Chilton, but he had received no answer, and nothing of certainty was to be gathered from the port which violet had just made. It might well be that Lord Chilton would turn upon him now in his wrath, and that there would be some scene which in a strange house would be obviously objectionable. Nevertheless, he had resolved that even that would be better than a chance encounter amongst strangers in a drawing-room. So the door was opened, and the two men met. "'Well, old fellow,' said Lord Chilton, laughing. Then all doubt was over, and in a moment Phineas was shaking his former and present friend warmly by the hand. So we've come to be an undersecretary heavy and all that kind of thing.' I had to get into harness when the harness offered itself, said Phineas. "'I suppose so. It's a bit of use of a bore, isn't it?' "'I always liked work, you know. I thought you liked hunting better, used to ride as if you did. There's bone-breaker a bat again in the stable for you.  I don't see why you should have done that. Because I was the biggest fool of the two. Do you remember that that brute got me down under the bank and the river? That was about the nearest touch I ever had. Lord bless me how he did squeeze me. So here you are, staying with the palaces, one of a government party, I suppose. But what are you going to do for a seat, my friend?' "'Don't talk about that yet, children. It's all subject, isn't it? I think they have been quite right, you know, to put lightning into the melting pot. I'm sorry enough for your sake.' "'Quite right,' said Phineas. "'And yet you've voted against it, old chap?  So my father has been here?' "'Yes, he was here for a day or two. Father's just been telling me. You and he are as good friends as ever?' "'I trust we are.' "'He never heard of that little affair?' Lord Chilton nodded his head, intending to indicate the direction of Blankenberg. "'I do not think he has yet. So Father tells me, of course, you know that she's heard all about it.' "'I have reason to suppose as much. And so does Laura.' "'I told her myself,' said Phineas. "'The deuce you did. But I daresay it was for the best. It's a pity you had not proclaimed it at Charing Cross, and then nobody would have believed a word about it. "'Of course, my father will hear it some day.' "'You're going to Salisbury, I hope, Chilton?' "'And that question is easier asked than answered. It's quite true that the great difficulty has been got ever. Laura has had her money, and if my father will only acknowledge that he has wronged me throughout from beginning to end, I will go to Salisbury to-morrow. I will cut you out at Loudon the next day, only that Loudon is not Loudon any longer.' "'You cannot expect your father to do that.' "'No, and therefore this is a difficulty. Say, you've had that all-flip-ponderous duke here. How did you get on with him?' Abramley, he condescended to do something which he called shaking hands with me. "'He is the greatest old dust-out,' said Lord Chilton, disrespectfully. "'Did he take any notice of Violet?' "'Not that I observed. He ought not to be allowed into the same room with her.' After that there was a short pause, and Phineas felt some hesitation in speaking of Miss Effingham to Lord Chilton. "'And how did you get on with her?' asked Lord Chilton. Here was a question for a man to answer. The question was so hard to be answered that Phineas did not at first make any attempt to answer it. "'You know exactly the ground that I stand on,' continued Lord Chilton. "'She's refused me three times. Have you been more fortunate?' Lord Chilton, as he asked his question, looked full into Finn's face in a manner that was irresistible. His look was not one of anger nor even of pride. It was not indeed without a strong dash of fun. But such as it was, it showed Phineas that Lord Chilton intended to have an answer. "'No,' said he at last. "'I have not been more fortunate.' "'Perhaps you'd change your mind,' said his host. "'No, I have not changed my mind,' said Phineas quickly. "'How stands it then? Come! Let us be honest to each other.  "'You made up your mind that you would do so, therefore I quarreled with you. "'But we can't always be fighting duels.' "'I hope we may not have to fight another.' "'No, it would be absurd,' said Lord Chilton. "'I'd rather think that what we did was absurd. "'But upon my life I did not see any other way out of it. However, that's over. How is it to be now?' "'What am I to say an answer to that?' asked Phineas. "'Just the truth. You've asked her, I suppose.' "'Yes, I have asked her.' "'And she has refused you?' "'Yes, she's refused me.' "'And you mean to ask again?' "'I shall, if I ever think that there is a chance. "'Indeed, Chilton, I believe I shall whether I think that I have any chance or not.' "'Then we start fairly thin. I certainly shall do so. "'I believe I once told you that I never would. "'But that was long before I suspected that you would enter for the same plate.' "'What a man says on such a matter when he's down in the mouth goes for nothing. "'Now we understand each other, and you better go and dress. "'The bell rang nearly half an hour ago, and my fellow is hanging about outside the door.' The interview had, in one respect, been very pleasant to Phineas, and in another it had been very bitter. It was pleasant to him to know that he and Lord Chilton were again friends. It was a delight to him to feel that his half-savage but high-spirited young nobleman who had been so anxious to fight with him and to shoot him was nevertheless ready to own that he had behaved well. Lord Chilton had in fact acknowledged that though he had been anxious to blow out our hero's brains, he was aware all the time that our hero was a good sort of fellow. Phineas understood this and felt that it was pleasant. But with this understanding and accompanying this pleasure there was a conviction in his heart that the distance between Lord Chilton and Violet, who daily grew to be less and still less, and that Lord Chilton could afford to be generous. If Miss Effingham could teach herself to be fond of Lord Chilton, what had he finished Phine to offer in opposition to the claims of such a suitor? That evening Lord Chilton took Miss Effingham out to dinner. Phineas told himself that this was, of course, surranged by Lady Glencora with the express view of serving the soul's be interest. It was almost nothing to him at the moment that Madame Max Gerster was entrusted to him. He had his ambition respecting Madame Max Gerster, but that for the time was in abeyance. He could hardly keep his eyes off Miss Effingham, and yet as he well knew his observation of her must be quite useless. He knew beforehand with absolute accuracy the manner in which she would treat her lover. She would be kind, genial, friendly, confidential, nay, affectionate, and yet her manner would knew nothing would give no clue to her future decision, either for or against Lord Chilton. It was, as Phineas thought, her peculiarity with Violet Effingham that she could treat her rejected lovers as dear, familiar friends immediately after her rejection of them. Mr. Finn, said Madame Max Gerster, your eyes and ears are telltales of your passion. I hope not, said Phineas, as I certainly do not wish that anyone should guess how strong is my regard for you. That is prettily turned, very prettily turned, and shows more readiness of wit than I have given you credit for under your present suffering. But of course we all know where your heart is. Men do not undertake perilous journeys to Belgium for nothing. That unfortunate journey to Belgium, but dear Madame Max, really nobody knows why I went. You met Lord Chilton there? Oh yes, I met Lord Chilton there. And there was a duel? Madame Max, you must not ask me to discriminate myself. Of course there was, and of course it was about Miss Effingham, and of course the Lady thinks herself bound to refuse both the gentlemen who were so very wicked, and of course— Well, what follows? If you have not wit enough to see, I do not think it can be my duty to tell you. But I wish to caution you, as a friend, that your eyes and ears should be more under your command. You will go to Salisbury? Violet said to Lord Chilton. I cannot possibly tell as yet, said he, frowning. Then I can tell you that you ought to go. I do not care a bit for your frowns. What does the Fifth Commandment say? If you have no better arguments than the calm armours, Violet, there can be none better. Do you mean to say that the commandments are nothing to you? I mean to say that I shall not go to Salisbury, because I am told in the twentieth chapter of Exodus to honour my father and mother, and that I should not believe anybody who told me that he did anything because of the commandments. Oh, Lord Chilton! People are so prejudiced and so used to humbug that for the most part they do not at least know their own motives for what they do. I will go to Salisbury tomorrow for a reward. For what reward? Said Violet, blushing. The only one in the world that could tempt me to do anything. You should go for the sake of duty. I should not even care to see you go much as I long for it if that feeling did not take you there. It was arranged that Phineas and Lord Chilton would leave matching together. Phineas was to remain at his office all October, and in November the general election was to take place. What he hitherto heard about a future seat was most vague, but he was to meet Rattler and Barrington Earl in London, and it had been understood that Barrington Earl, who is now at Salisbury, was to make some enquiries with a group of borrower which Louton at this moment formed one. But as Louton was the smallest of four borrowers, and as one of the four had for many years had a representative of its own, Phineas feared that no success would be found there. In his present agony he began to think that there might be a strong plea made for a few private seats in the House of Commons and that the propriety of throwing Louton into the melting-pot was, after all, open to question. He and Lord Chiltern were to return to Lunton together, and Lord Chiltern, according to his present scheme, was to proceed at once to Willingford to look after the cub-hunting. Nothing that either Violet or Phineas could say to him would induce him to promise to go to Salisbury. When Phineas pressed it, he was told by Lord Chiltern that he was a fool for his pains. By which Phineas understood perfectly well that when Lord Chiltern did go to Salisbury, he, Phineas, was to take that as strong evidence that everything was over for him as regarded to Violet Effingham. When Violet expressed to her eagerness that the visit should be made, she was stopped with an assurance that she could have it done at once if she pleased. Let him only be enabled to carry with him the tidings of his betrothal, and he would start for his father's house without an arse delay. But this authority Violet would not give him. When he answered her after this fashion she could only tell him that he was ungenerous. At any rate, I am not false," he replied on one occasion. What I say is the truth. There was a very tender parting between Phineas and Madame Max Gersler. She had learned from him pretty nearly all his history and certainly knew more of the reality of his affairs than any of those in London who had been his most staunch friends.  If I understand it at all, they never throw over an ally so useful as you are. But the intention is that in this matter nobody should any longer have the power of throwing over or of not throwing over anybody. That is all very very well, my friend, but cakes will still be hot in the mouth even though Mr. Dorbinet turned purist with Mr. Turnbull to help him. If you want any assistance in finding a seat you will not go to the People's Banner, even yet. Certainly not to the People's Banner. I don't quite understand what the franchise is, continued Madame Max Gersler. Household in boroughs," said Phineas with some energy. Very well, household in boroughs. I dare say that is very fine and very liberal, but I don't comprehend it in the least. And you want a borough? Very well. You won't go to the households. I don't think you will, not at first, that is. Where shall I go then? Oh, to some great patron of a borough, or to a club, or perhaps to some great firm. The households will know nothing about it till they are told. Is not that it? The truth is, Madame Max, I do not know where I shall go. I'm like a child lost in a wood. And you may understand this. If you do not see me in Park Lane before the end of January, I shall have perished in the wood. Then I will come and find you with a troop of householders. You will come. You will be there. I do not believe in death coming without signs.  As she spoke, she had hold of his hand, and there was nobody near them. They were in a little book-room inside the library of matching, and the door, though not latched, was nearly closed. Phineas had flattened himself that Madame Gersler had retreated there in order that this farewell might be spoken without interruption. And Mr. Finn, I wonder whether I may say one thing, she continued. You may say anything to me. No, not in this country, in this England, but one may not say here that a tabooed by a sort of consent, and that without any reason. She paused again, and Phineas would at a loss to think what was the subject on which she was about to speak. Could she mean? No, she could not mean to give him any outward plain-spoken sign that she was attached to him. It was the peculiar merit of his man that he was not vain, though much was done to him to fill him with vanity. As the idea crossed his brain, he hated himself because it had been there. To me you may say anything, Madame Gersler, he said. Here in England, as plainly as though we were in Vienna. But I cannot say it in English, she said. Then in French, blushing and laughing as she spoke, almost stammering in spite of her usual self-confidence, she told him that accident had made her rich, full of money. Money was a drug with her. Money she knew was wanted even for householders. Would he not understand her and come to her and learn from her how faithful a woman could be? He still was holding her by the hand, and he now raised it to his lips and kissed it. The offer of a view, he said, is as high-minded, as generous and as honourable as its acceptance by me would be mean-spirited, vile and ignoble. But whether I fail or whether I succeed, you shall see me before this winter is over. End of Chapter 49 Recording by Simon Evers Chapter 50 of Phineas Finn This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Simon Evers Phineas Finn by Anthony Trollop Chapter 50 Again Successful Phineas also said a word of farewell to Violet before he left matching, but there was nothing peculiar in her little speech to him or in his to her. Of course we shall see each other in London. Don't talk of not being in the house. Of course you will be in the house. Then Phineas had shaken his head and smiled. Where was he to find a requisite number of householders prepared to return him? But as he went up to London he told himself that the air of the House of Commons was neither very breath of his nostrils, life to him without it would be no life. To have come within the reach of the good things of political life, to have made his mark so as to have almost ensured future success, to have been the pettied young official aspirant of the day, and then to sink down into the miserable platitudes of private life to undergo daily attendance in law-courts without a brief, to listen to men who have come to be much below him in estimation and social intercourse, to sit in a wretched chamber up three pairs of stairs at Lincoln's Inn, whereas he was now at this moment provided with a gorgeous apartment looking out into the park from the colonial office in Dining Street. He'd be attended by a mongrel between a clerk and an errand boy at seventeen shillings and sixpence a week instead of by a private secretary who was the son of an earl's sister and was pettied by Countess's daughter's innurable. All this would surely break his heart. He could have done it, so he told himself, and could have taken glory in doing it, had not these other things come in his way. But the other things had come. He had run the risk and had thrown the dice. And now, when the game was so nearly won, must it be that everything should be lost at last? He knew that nothing was to be gained by melancholy looks at his club or by sure of wretchedness at his office. London was very empty, but the approaching elections still kept some there who otherwise would have been looking after the first flush of pheasants. Barrington Earle was there and was not long in asking Phineas what were his views. That is so hard to say. Rattler told me that he would be looking about. Rattler is very well in the house, said Barrington, but he's of no use for anything beyond it. I suppose you were not brought up at the London University? Oh, no! said Phineas, remembering the glories of Trinity. Because there would have been an opening, and what do you say to Stratford, the new Essex borough? Broadbrew the Bureau, is there already?  Let me see. Louton is grouped with Smotherham and Walker is a deal too strong at Smotherham to hear of any other client. I don't think we could dare to propose it. There are the Chelsea Hamlets, but it'll take a whack of money. I have not got a whack of money, said Phineas, laughing. That's the devil of it.  Couldn't you get Lawrence to give you up his seat? What, Fitzgibbon? Yes, he has not got a ghost of a chance of getting into office again. Nothing on earth would induce him to look at a paper during all those weeks he was at the Colonial Office. And when Cantrip spoke to him, all he said was, ah, bother. Cantrip did not like it, I can tell you. But that wouldn't make him give up his seat. Of course, you'll have to arrange it. By which Phineas understood Barrett and Earl to mean that he, Phineas, was in some way to give to Lawrence Fitzgibbon some adequate compensation for the surrender of his position as a county member. I'm afraid that's out of the question, said Phineas. If he were to go, I shouldn't get it. Would you have a chance at Loth's Shain? I was thinking of trying it, said Phineas. Of course, you know that Morris is very ill. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I know that Morris is very ill. This Mr. Morris was the brother of Lord Tuller, and was a sitting member of Loth's Shain. Upon my word, I should try that. I don't see where we're to put our hands on a seat in England. I don't, indeed. Phineas, as he listened to this, could not help thinking that Barrett and Earl, though he had certainly expressed a great deal of solicitude, was not as true a friend as he used to be. Perhaps he, Phineas, had risen too fast, and Barrett and Earl were beginning to think that he might as well be out of the way. He wrote to his father, asking after the borough, and asking after the health of Mr. Morris. And in his letter he told his own story very plainly, almost pathetically. He perhaps had been wrong to make the attempt which he had made. He began to believe that he had been wrong, but at any rate he had made it so far successfully, and failure now would be doubly bitter. He thought that the party to which he belonged must now remain in office. It would hardly be possible that a new election would produce a House of Commons favourable to a Conservative ministry, and with a Liberal ministry, he, Phineas, would be sure of his place, and sure of an official income, if only he could find a seat.  The old doctor, who was inclined to be proud of his son, was not unwilling to make a sacrifice. Mrs. Finn declared before her daughters that if there was a seat in all Ireland, Phineas ought to have it. And Mary Flood Jones stood by listening and wondering what Phineas would do if he lost his seat. Would he come back and live in County Clare and be like any other girl's lover? Poor Mary had come to lose her ambition and to think that girls whose lovers stayed at home were the happiest. Nevertheless, she would have walked all the way to Lord Tullis' house and back again. Might that have availed to get the seat for Phineas? Then there came an expression over from Castle Morris. The doctor was wanted at once to see Mr. Morris. Mr. Morris was very bad with gout in his stomach. According to the messenger, it was supposed that Mr. Morris was dying. Before Dr. Finn had had an opportunity of answering his son's letter, Mr. Morris, the late member for Lockshane, had been gathered to his father's. Dr. Finn understood enough of the elections for Parliament and of the nature of boroughs to be aware that a candidate's chance of success is very much improved by being early in the field. And he was aware also that the death of Mr. Morris would probably create various aspirants for the honour of representing Lockshane. But he could hardly address the earl on the subject while the dead body of the late member was lying in the house at Castle Morris. The bill which had passed in the late session for reforming the Constitution of the House of Commons had not touched Ireland, a future measure having been promised to the Irish for their comfort, and Lockshane therefore was, as to Lord Tuller's influence, the same as it had ever been. He had not there the plenary plough which the other Lord had held in his hands in regard to Louton. But still, the Castle Morris interest would go a long way. It might be possible to stand against it, but we are much more desirable that the candidate should have it at his back. Dr. Finn was fully alive to this as he sat opposite to the old Lord, saying now a word about the old Lord's gout in his legs and arms, and then about the gout in the stomach, which had carried away to another world the lamented late member for the borough. "'Poor Jack,' said Lord Tuller, piziously, if I had known it, I didn't have paid over two thousand bound for him last year. Need I, doctor?' "'No, indeed,' said Dr. Finn, feeling that his patient might perhaps approach the subject of the borough himself. "'He never would live by any rule, you know,' said the desolate brother. It was very hard to guide, was he not, my Lord?' "'The very devil. Now, you see, I do do what I'm told pretty well, don't I, doctor?' "'Sometimes.' "'By George, I do nearly always. I don't know what you mean by sometimes.  You doctors expect a man to be a slave. Haven't I kept it out of my stomach?' "'Thank God, yes.' "'It's all very well-thanking God, but I should have gone as poor Jack had gone if I hadn't been the most careful man in the world. He was drinking champagne ten days ago. Would do it, you know?' Well, Tullock had talked about himself and his own ailments by the hour together. And Dr. Finn, who had thought that his noble patient was approaching the subject of the borough, was beginning again to feel that the double interest of the gout that was present and the gout that had passed away would be too absorbing. He, however, could say but little to direct the conversation. "'Mr. Morris, you see, a little more than London, than you do, and was subject to temptation. I don't know what you call temptation. Haven't I the temptation of a bottle of wine under my nose every day of my life?' "'No doubt you have. And I don't drink it. Hardly ever take above a glass or two of brown sherry. By George, when I think of it, I wonder of my own courage. I do indeed. I'm a man in London, my Lord. Why, the juice, would you go to London? By the by. What am I to do about the borough now?' "'Let my son stand for it, if you will, my Lord.' They've clean-swept away, Brentford's seat and lighten, haven't they? What a nice game for him to be forced to help to do it himself.  Finally, I don't care who sits for Los Shane. I didn't care for Port Jack while he was alive. I don't think I should interfere any longer. I'm glad it lasted Jack's time.' Lord Tudder had probably already forgotten that he himself had thrown Jack over for the last session but one. "'Fineas,' my Lord,' began the father, is now under Secretary of State. "'No, I've no doubt he's a very fine fellow. But you see, he's an out-and-out radical.' "'No, my Lord.' "'Then how can he serve with such men as Mr. Gresham and Mr. Munk?' "'They've turned out poor a mile may among them because he's not fast enough for them. Don't tell me!' "'My anxiety, of course, is for my boy's prospects. He seems to have done so well in Parliament.' "'Why don't you stand for a barrel of an old Finnsbury?' "'The money, you know, my Lord.' "'I shan't interfere here, Doctor. If he comes and the people then choose to return him, I shall say nothing. They may do just as they please. They tell me Lambert St. George of Mochroff is going to stand. "'If he does, it's the damnedest piece of impudence have I ever heard of. He's a tenet of my own, though he has a lease for ever. And his father never owned an acre of land of the county to his uncle died.' Then the doctor knew that with a little management the Lord's interest might be secured for his son. Finnsbury came over and stood for the borough against Mr. Lambert St. George, and the contest was sharp enough. The gentry of the neighbourhood could not understand why such a man as Lord Tuller should admit a liberal candidate to succeed his brother. No one canvassed for the young undersecretary with more persistent zeal than did his father, who, when Finnsbury first spoke of going into Parliament, had produced so many good arguments against that perilous step. Lord Tuller's agent stood aloof, desolate with grief for the death of the late member. At such a moment of family affliction Lord Tuller, he declared, could not think of such a matter as the borough. But it was known that Lord Tuller was dreadfully jealous of Mr. Lambert St. George, whose property in that part of the county was now nearly equal to his own, and who saw much more company at McGrath than was ever entertained at Castle Morris. A word from Lord Tuller, so said the Conservatives of the county, would have put Mr. St. George into the seat. That word was not spoken, and the Conservatives of the neighbourhood swore that Lord Tuller was a renegade. The contest was very sharp, but our hero was returned by a majority of 17 votes. Again successful. As he thought of it, he remembered stories of great generals who had said to have chained fortune to the wheels of their chariots, but it seemed to him that the goddess had never served any general of such staunch obedience as she had displayed in his cause. Had not everything gone well with him? So well as almost to justify him in expecting that even yet Violet Effingham would become his wife. Dear, dearest Violet, if he could any achieve that, no general, whoever led an army across the Alps, would be his equal, either in success or in the reward of success. Then he questioned himself as what he would say to Miss Flood at Jones on that very night. He was to meet dear little Mary Flood Jones that evening at a neighbour's house. His sister Barbara had so told him in a tone of voice which he quite understood to imply a caution. I shall be so glad to see her, Phineas replied. If there ever was an angel on earth, it is Mary, said Barbara Finn. I know that she is as good as gold, said Phineas. Gold! replied Barbara. Gold indeed, she is more precious than refined gold, but Phineas, perhaps you better not singular her out for any special attention. She thought it wisest to meet you. Of course, said Phineas, why not? That is all Phineas, I have nothing more to say. Men, of course, are different from girls. That is true Barbara, at any rate.  Barbara made more than one attempt to renew the conversation before the evening came, but Phineas thought that he had enough of it. He did not like being told that excuses were made for him. After all, what had he done? He at once kissed Mary flood Jones behind the door. I am so glad to see you, Mary, he said, coming and taking a chair by her side. He been specially warned not to and, as they were expected, that he would fall into it. Thank you. We did not happen to meet last year, did we, Mr Phine? Do not call me Mr Phine, Mary. You are such a great man now. Oh, not at all a great man. If you only knew what little men we understrap as are in London you would hardly speak to me. But you are something of state now, are you not? Well, yes, that is the name they give me. It simply means that if any member wants to badger someone in the house about the colonies I am the man to be badgered. But if there is any credit to be had I am not the man who is to have it. But it is a great thing to be in Parliament and in the Government too. It is a great thing for me, Mary, to have a salary that may only be for a year or two. However, I will not deny that it is pleasant to have been successful. It has been very pleasant to ask Phineas that she has been so much rejoiced. I am so sorry not to see her. She is a flubberer, I suppose. Oh, yes, she is at home. She does not like coming out at night in winter. I be staying here you know for two days, but I go home to-morrow.  Then there was a pause in the conversation for a moment. Does it not seem odd, Mary, that we should see so little of each other? You are so much away, of course. Yes, that is the reason. But still, it seems almost unnatural. I often wonder when the time will come that I should be quietly at home again. I have to be back in my office in London this day-week, and yet I have not had a single hour to myself since I have been at Killaloe. But I will certainly ride over and see your mother. You will be at home on Wednesday, I suppose? Yes, I should be at home. Upon that he got up and went away. But again in the evening he found himself near her. Perhaps there is no position more perilous to a man's honesty than that in which Phineas now found himself. That, namely, of knowing himself to be quite loved by a girl whom he almost loves himself. Of course he loved Violet Effingham, and they who talk best of love protest that no man or woman can be in love with two persons at once. Phineas was not in love with Mary Flood-Jones, but he would have liked to take her in his arms and kiss her. He would have liked to gratify her by swearing that she was dearer to him than all the world. He would like to have had an episode. I did at that moment think that it might be possible to have one life in London and another life altogether different at Killaloe. Dear Mary," he said as he pressed her hand that night, things will get themselves settled at last, I suppose. He was behaving very ill to her. He was not mean to behave ill. He rode over to Flubbra and saw Mrs. Flood-Jones. Mrs. Flood-Jones, however, received him very coldly, and Mary did not appear.  The fact is, Mama, I love him. I cannot help it. If he ever chooses to come for me, here I am. If he does not, I will bear it to him. It may be very mean of me, but it is true. End of Chapter 50 Recording by Simon Evers Chapter 51 of Phineas Finn This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Simon Evers Phineas Finn by Anthony Trollop A few men went down for the grouse shooting late in the season, but they stayed but a short time, and when they went, Lady Laura was left alone with her husband. Mr. Kennedy had explained to his wife more than once that though he understood the duties of hospitality and enjoyed the performance of them, he had not married with the intention of living in a whirlwind. He was disposed to think that the whirlwind had hitherto been too predominant, and had said so very plainly with a good deal of marital authority. This autumn and winter were to be devoted to the cultivation of proper relations between him and his wife. Does that mean Derby and Joan? His wife had asked him when the proposition was made to her. It means mutual regard and esteem," replied Mr. Kennedy in his most solemn tone, and I trust that such mutual regard and esteem between us may yet be possible. When Lady Laura showed him a letter from her brother, received some weeks after this conversation, in which Lord Chilton expressed his intention of coming to Loch Linter for Christmas, he returned the note to his wife without a word. He suspected that she had made the arrangement without asking him, and was angry, but he would not tell her that her brother would not be welcome at his house. It is not my doing, she said when she saw the frown on his brow. I said nothing about anybody's doing," he replied. I will write to Oswald and bid him not to come if you wish it. Of course you can understand why he is coming. Not to see me, I am sure," said Mr. Kennedy. Nor me," replied Lady Laura, he is coming because my friend Violet Effingham will be here. Miss Effingham, why was I not told of this? I knew nothing of Miss Effingham's coming. Robert, it was settled in your presence last July. I denied. Then Lady Laura rose up very haughty in her gait, and with something of fire in her eye, and silently it left the room. Mr. Kennedy, when he found himself alone, was very unhappy. Looking back in his mind to the summer weeks in London, he remembered that his wife had told Violet that she was to spend her Christmas at Loch Linter, that he himself had given a mutter descent, and that Violet, as far as he could remember, had made no reply. It had been one of those things which is so often mentioned, but not settled. He felt that he had been strictly right in denying that it had been settled in his presence, but yet he felt that he had been wrong in contradicting his wife so peremptorily. He was a just man, and he would apologise for his fault, but he was an austere man and would take back the value of his apology in additional austerity. He did not see his wife for some hours after the conversation which has been narrated, but when he did meet her his mind was still full of the subject. Laura, he said, I'm sorry that I contradicted you. I'm quite used to it, Robert. No, you are not used to it. She smiled about her head, you wronged me by saying that you are used to it. Then he paused a moment, but she said the word only smiled and bowed her head again. I remember, he continued, that something was said in my presence to miss again about her coming here at Christmas. It was so slight, however, that it had passed out of my memory to recall by an effort. I beg your pardon. That is unnecessary, Robert. It is, dear.  My brother never yet has seen me in your house. And whose fault has that been? I've said nothing about anybody's fault, Robert. I merely mentioned a fact. Would you let me know whether I shall bid him stay away? He is welcome to come, only I do not like assignations for love-making. Asignations? Plandestine meetings. Lady Baldock would not wish it. Lady Baldock? Do you think that Vardet would exercise any secrecy in the matter, or that she will not tell Lady Baldock that Oswald would be here as soon as she knows it herself? That has nothing to do with it. Surely, Robert, it must have much to do with it. Am I should not these two young people meet? The acknowledged wish of all the families that they should marry each other. And in this matter, at any rate, my brother has behaved extremely well. Mr. Kennedy said nothing further at the time, and it became an understanding that Violet Ethium was to be a month at Loch Linter, staying from the 20th of December to the 20th of January, and that Lord Chilten was to come here for Christmas, which with him would probably have been a month of Christmas, which with him would probably mean three days. Before Christmas, however, there was various other sources of uneasiness at Loch Linter. There had been, as a matter of course, great anxiety as to the elections. With Lady Laura, this anxiety had been very strong, and even Mr. Kennedy had been warmed with some amount of fire as the announcements reached him of the successes and of the failures. The English returns came first in the scotch, which were quite as interesting to Mr. Kennedy as the English. His own seat was quite safe, was not contested, but some neighbouring seats were sources of great solicitude. Then, when this was over, there were the tidings from Ireland to be received, and respecting one special borough in Ireland, Lady Laura evinced more solicitude than her husband approved. There was much danger for the domestic bliss of the House of Loch Linter when things came to such a pass that words were spoken as the election at Loch Shane produced. He is in, said Lady Laura, opening a telegram. Who is in? said Mr. Kennedy, with that frown on his brow to which his wife was now well accustomed. When he asked the question, he knew very well who was the hero to whom the telegram referred. Our friend Finneas Finn! said Lady Laura, speaking still with an excited voice, with a voice that was intended for excitement. If there was to be a battle on this matter, there should be a battle. She would display all our anxiety for her young friend, and fling it in her husband's face if he chose to take it as an injury. What, should she endure reproach from her husband because she regarded the interests of the man who had saved his life, of the man respecting whom she had suffered so many hard struggles, and as to whom she had at last come to the conclusion that he should ever find a brother? She had done her duty by her husband, so at least she had assured herself, and should he dare to reproach her on this subject, she would be ready for the battle. And now the battle came. I am glad of this, she said, with all the eagerness she could throw into her voice. I am indeed and so old you to be. The husband's brow grew blacker and blacker, but still he said nothing. He had long been too proud to be jealous, and was now too proud to express his jealousy, if any could keep the expression back. But his wife would not leave the subject. I am so thankful for this, she said, pressing the telegram between her hands. I was so afraid he would fail. You overdue your anxiety on such a subject. At last he said, speaking very slowly, what do you mean, Robert? How can I be over-anxious? If he concerned any other dear friend that I have in the world, it would not be an affair of life and death. To him it is almost so. I would have walked from here to London to get him his election. And as she spoke, she held up the clenched fist of her left hand and shook it, while she still held the telegram in her right hand. Laura, I must tell you that it is improper that you should speak of any man in those terms, of any man that is a stranger to your blood. A stranger to my blood? What is that to do with it? This man is my friend, your friend. Saved your life, has been my brother's best friend, is loved by my father, and is loved by me very dearly. Tell me what you mean by improper. I will not have you love any man very dearly.  You will not go to Salisbury, and are used only to provoke me. Am I to understand that I am insulted by an accusation? If so, don't be begot once that I may be allowed to go to Salisbury. I would rather accept your apology and retraction there than here. You will not go to Salisbury, and there has been no accusation and there will be no apology. If you please, there will be no more mention of Mr. Finn's name between us for the present. And I must desire you to hold no further direct communication with him. I have held no communication with him," said Lady Laura, advancing a step towards him. But Mr. Kennedy simply pointed to the telegram in her hand and left the room. Now, in respect to this telegram there had been an unfortunate mistake. I am not prepared to say that there was any reason why Phineas himself should not have said that to Lady Laura. But he had not done so. The piece of paper which he still held crushed in her hand was in itself very innocent. Hurrah for the lock-shanes! Phineas done the trick. Such were the words written on the slip, and they had been sent to Lady Laura by her young cousin, the clerk in the office who acted as private secretary to the undersecretary of State. Lady Laura resolved that her husband should never see those innocent other undignified words. The occasion had become one of importance, and such words were unworthy of it. Besides, she would not condescend to defend herself by bringing forward a telegram as evidence in her favour. So she burned the morsel of paper. Lady Laura and Mr. Kennedy did not meet again until late that evening. She was ill, she said, and would not come down to dinner. After dinner she read him a note. I think you must regret what you said to me. If so, pray let me have a line from you to that effect. Yours affectionately, L. When the servant handed it to him, he had read it, he smiled, and thanked the girl who brought it, and said he would see her mistress just now. Anything would be better than that the servants should know that there was a quarrel. But every servant in the house had known all about it for the last three hours. When the door was closed and he was alone, he sat fingering the note, not knowing how he should answer it, or whether he would answer it at all. No, he would not answer it, not in writing. He would give his wife no written record of his humiliation. He had not acted wrongly. He had said nothing more than now upon mature consideration he thought that the circumstances demanded. But yet he felt that he must in some sort withdraw the accusation which he had made. If he did not withdraw it, he might do. About ten in the evening he went up to her and made his little speech. My dear, I have come to answer your note. I thought you would have written to me a line. I have come instead, Laura. Now, if you will listen to me for one moment, I think everything will be made smooth. Of course I will listen, said Lady Laura, knowing very well that her husband's moment will be rather tedious, and resolving that she also I think you will acknowledge that if there be a difference of opinion between you and me as to any question of social intercourse, it will be better that you should consent to adopt my opinion. You have the law on your side. I am not speaking of the law. Well, go on, Robert. I will not interrupt you if I can help it. I am not speaking of the law. I am simply speaking of convenience and of that which you must feel to be right. If I wish that your intercourse with any person should be of such or such a nature, he must be best that you should comply with my wishes. He paused for her assent, but she neither assented nor dissented. As far as I can understand the position of a man and wife in this country, there is no other way in which life can be made harmonious. Life will not run in harmonies. I expect that ours shall be made to do so, Laura. I need hardly say to you that I intend to accuse you of no impropriety of feeling in reference to this young man. No, Robert. You need hardly say that. Indeed, to speak my own mind, I think that you need hardly have alluded to it. I might go further and say that such an allusion is in itself an insult, an insult now repeated after ours a deliberation, an insult which I will not endure to have repeated again. If you say another word in any way suggesting the possibility between me and Mr. Finn, either as to deeds or thoughts, as God is above me, I will write to both my father and my brother and desire them to take me from your house. If you wish me to remain here you would better be careful. As she was making this speech her temper seemed to rise and to become hot and then hotter to gloat with a red heat. She had been cool that till the word insult used by herself had conveyed back to her was becoming indignant. She was standing as she spoke and the far flashed from her eyes and he quailed before her. The threat which she had held out to him was very dreadful to him. He was a man terribly in fear of the world's good opinion who lacked the courage to go through a great and harassing trial in order that something better might come afterwards. His married life had been unhappy. His wife had not submitted her ways. He had that great desire to enjoy his full rights so strong in the minds of weak, ambitious men and he had told himself that a wife's obedience was one of those rights which he could not abandon without injury to his self-esteem. He had thought about the matter slowly, as was his won't and had resolved that he would assert himself. He had asserted himself and his wife told into his face he could detain her legally but he could not do even that without the fact of such forcible detention being known to all the world. How was he to answer her now at this moment so that she might not write to her father and so that his self-assertion might still be maintained? Passion, Laura, can never be right. Would you have a woman submit to insult without passion?  Then there was a pause for a moment. If you have nothing else to say to me you have better leave me. I am far from well and my head is throbbing. He came up and took her hand but she snatched it away from him. Laura, he said, do not let us quarrel. I certainly shall quarrel if such insinuations are repeated. I made no insinuation. Do not repeat them, that is all. He was cowed and left her, having first attempted to get out of the difficulty of his position by making much of her alleged illness and by offering to send for Dr. McNuthrey. She positively refused to see Dr. McNuthrey and at last succeeded in inducing him to quit the room. This had occurred about the end of November and on the 20th of December Violet Ethium reached Loch Linter. Life in Mr. Kennedy's house had gone quietly during the intervening three weeks but not very pleasantly. The name of Phineas Finn had not been mentioned. Lady Laura had triumphed but she had no desire to ascibate her husband by any unpalatable allusion to her victory and he was quite willing to let the subject die away if only it would die. On some other matters he continued to assert himself taking his wife to church twice every Sunday using longer family prayers than she approved meeting an additional sermon himself every Sunday evening calling upon her for a week or two to elaborate household accounts asking for her personal assistance in much local visiting initiating her into his favourite methods of family life in the country till sometimes she almost longed to talk again about Phineas Finn so that there might be a rupture and she might escape but her husband asserted himself within bounds and she submitted longing for the coming of Violet Ethium. She could not write to her father and beg to be taken away because her husband would read a sermon to her on Sunday evening to Violet very shortly after her arrival she told her whole story this is terrible, said Violet this makes me feel that I never will be married and yet what kind of woman become if she remains single that curses to be a woman at all I have always felt so proud of the privileges of my sex, said Violet I never have found them said the other never I have tried to make the best of its weaknesses and this is what I have come to I suppose I ought to have loved some man and did you never love any man no, I think I never did not as people mean when they speak of love I have felt that I am consented to be cut into little pieces of my brother because of my regard for him that is nothing and I felt something of the same thing for another a longing for his welfare a delight to hear him praised a charm in his presence so strong a feeling for his interest that were he to go to rack and ruin I too should, after a fashion, be racked and ruined but it has not been love either do I know whom you mean may I name him it is Phineas Finn of course it is Phineas Finn did he ever ask you to love him I feared he would do so and therefore accept him Mr Kennedy's offer almost of the first word I do not quite understand your reasoning Laura I understand it I could have resused him nothing in my power to give him but I did not wish to be his wife and he never asked you Lady Laura paused a moment thinking what reply she should make and then she told a fib no, he never asked me but Violet did not believe the fib Violet was quite sure that Phineas had asked Lady Laura Standish to be his wife as far as I can see said Violet Madam Max Gerster is his present passion I do not believe it in the least said Lady Laura firing up it does not much matter said Violet it would matter very much you know you know whom he loves and I do believe that sooner or later you will be his wife never yes you will had you not loved him you would never have condescended to accuse him about that woman I have not accused him why should he not marry Madam Max Gerstler it would be just the thing for him he's very rich never you will be his wife Laura you are the most precious of women you have two dear friends and you insist that I shall marry them both what shall I take first Oz will be here in a day or two and you can take him if you like it maybe actually he'll ask you but I do not think you will no I do not think I shall I shall lock under to Mr. Mill and go in for women's rights and look forward to stand for some female borough matrimony never seemed to me to be very charming and upon my word it had not become moralury by what I found at Loch Linter it was thus that Violet and Lady Laura discussed these matters together but Violet had never shown to her friend the cards in her hand as Lady Laura had shown those which she held Lady Laura had in fact told almost everything there was to tell had spoken either plainly with true words or equally plainly with words that were not true Violet Ethium had almost come to love Phineas Finn but she never told her friend that it was so at one time that she had almost made up her mind to give herself and all her wealth to this adventurer he was a better man she thought than Lord Chiltern and she had come to persuade herself that it was almost imperative on her to take the one or the other that she could talk about remaining unmarried she knew that that was practically impossible all those around her those of the Baldock as well as those of the Brentford faction besides in such a case what could she do it was all very well to talk of disregarding the world and of setting up a house for herself but she was quite aware that that project could not be used further than for the purpose of scaring her amiable aunt and if not that then could she content herself to look forward to a joint life with Lady Baldock and Augusta Borum she might of course oblige her aunt by taking Lord Thorn or oblige her aunt equally by taking Mr. Appledom but she was strongly of opinion that either Lord Chiltern or Phineas would be preferable to these thinking over it always she had come to feel that it must be either Lord Chiltern or Phineas but she never whispered her thoughts to Mayan or woman on her journey to Lochlinter where she then knew that she was to meet Lord Chiltern she endeavored to persuade herself that it should be Phineas but Lady Laura admired it all by that ill-told fib there had been a moment before in which Valet had felt that Phineas had sacrificed something of that truth of love for which she gave him credit to the glances of Madame Gersler's eyes but she had rebuked herself for the idea accusing herself not only of a little jealousy but of foolish vanity was he whom she had rejected not to speak of another woman then came the blow from Lady Laura but knew that it was a blow this gallant lover this young chryton this unassuming but ardent lover had simply taken up with her as soon as he had failed with her friend Lady Laura had been most enthusiastic in her expressions of friendship such platonic regards might be all very well it was for Mr Kennedy to look to that but for herself she felt that such expressions were hardly compatible with her ideas of having her lover all to herself and then she again remembered Madame Gersler's bright blue eyes Lord Chilton came on Christmas Eve and was received with open arms by his sister and with that painful, irritating affection which such a girl as Valet can show to such a man as Lord Chilton when she will not give him that other affection for which his heart is panting the two men were civil to each other but very cold they called each other Kennedy and Chilton but even that was not done without an effort on the Christmas morning Mr Kennedy asked his brother-in-law to go to church it's a kind of thing I never do said Lord Chilton Mr Kennedy gave a little start and looked a look of horror Lady Laura showed that she was unhappy Valet Effingham turned away her face and smiled as they walked across the park Valet took Lord Chilton's part he only means that he does not go to church on Christmas day I don't know what he means said Mr Kennedy mean he not speak of it said Lady Laura certainly not said Mr Kennedy I have been to church with him on Sundays myself said Valet perhaps not reflecting that the practices had little to do with the young man's life at present Christmas day and the next day passed without any sign from Lord Chilton and on the day after that he was to go away but he was not to leave till one or two in the afternoon not a word had been said between the two women since he had been in the house on the subject of which both of them were thinking very much had been said of the expediences of his going to Salisbury but on this matter he declined to make any promise sitting in Lady Laura's room in the presence of both of them he had refused to do so I'm bad to drive he said turning to Valet and you better not try to drive me why should you not be driven as well as another she answered laughing end of chapter 51 recording by Simon Evers