 CHAPTER 66 Vick Tricks Mr. Monk's holiday program allowed him a week at Kill-A-Loy, and from thence he was to go to Limerick, and from Limerick to Dublin, in order that, at both places, he might be entertained at a public dinner and make a speech about tenant right. For seeing that Phineas might commit himself if he attended these meetings, Mr. Monk had counseled him to remain at Kill-A-Loy, but Phineas had refused to subject himself to such cautious abstinence. Mr. Monk had come to Ireland as his friend, and he would see him through his travels. "'I shall not, probably, be asked to speak,' said Phineas, and if I am asked, I need not say more than a few words, and what if I did speak out? You might find it disadvantageous to you in London. I must take my chance of that. I am not going to tie myself down, for ever and ever, for the sake of being undersecretary to the colonies.' Mr. Monk said very much to him on the subject, was constantly saying very much to him about it, but in spite of all that Mr. Monk said, Phineas did make the journey to Limerick and Dublin. He had not, since his arrival at Kill-A-Loy, been a moment alone with Mary Flood Jones till the evening before he started with Mr. Monk. She had kept out of his way successfully, though she had constantly been with him in company, and was beginning to plume herself on the strength and valor of her conduct. But her self-praise had in it nothing of joy, and her glory was very sad. Of course she would care for him no more, more especially as it was so very evident that he cared not at all for her. But the very fact of her keeping out of his way made her acknowledge to herself that her position was very miserable. She had declared to her mother that she might certainly go to Kill-A-Loy with safety, that it would be better for her to put herself in the way of meeting him as an old friend, that the idea of the necessity of shutting herself up because of his approach was the one thing that gave her real pain. Therefore her mother had brought her to Kill-A-Loy and she had met him. But her fancy security had deserted her, and she found herself to be miserable, hoping for something she did not know what, still dreaming of possibilities, feeling during every moment of his presence with her that some special conduct was necessary on her part. She could not make further confession to her mother and ask to be carried back to Flood-Burrow. But she knew that she was very wretched at Kill-A-Loy. As for Phineas he had felt that his old friend was very cold to him. He was in that humor with reference to Violet Effingham which seemed especially to require consolation. He knew now that all hope was over there, Violet Effingham could never be his wife. Even where she not to marry Lord Chiltern for the next five years, she would not, during those five years, marry any other man. Such was our hero's conviction, and suffering under this conviction, he was in want of the comfort of feminine sympathy. And Mary known all this, and had it suited her to play such a part, I think she might have had Phineas at her feet before he had been a week at home. But she had kept aloof from him, and had heard nothing of his sorrows. As a natural consequence of this Phineas was more in love with her than ever. On the evening before he started with Mr. Monk for Limerick, he managed to be alone with her for a few minutes. Barbara may probably have assisted in bringing about this arrangement, and had perhaps been guilty of some treachery. Sisters in such circumstances will sometimes be very treacherous to their friends. I feel sure, however, that Mary herself was quite innocent of any guile in the matter. Mary, Phineas said to her suddenly, it seems to me that you have avoided me purposely ever since I have been at home. She smiled, and blushed, and stammered, and said nothing. Has there been any reason for it, Mary? No reason at all that I know of, she said. We used to be such great friends. That was before you were a great man, Phineas. It must necessarily be different now. You know so many people now, and people of such a different sort, that of course I fall a little into the background. When you talk in that way, Mary, I know that you are laughing at me. Indeed, indeed I am not. I believe there is no one in the whole world, he said, after pause, whose friendship is more to me than yours is. I think of it so often, Mary, say that when we come back it shall be between us as it used to be. Then he put out his hand for hers, and she could not help giving it to him. Of course there will be people, he said, who talk nonsense, and one cannot help it, but I will not put up with it from you. I did not mean to talk nonsense, Phineas. Then there came someone across them, and the conversation was ended. And she could not help but remember that he had declared that her friendship was dearer to him than the friendship of any one else. Phineas went with Mr. Monk first to Limerick, and then to Dublin, and found himself at both places to be regarded as a hero only second to the great hero. At both places the one subject of debate was tenant right. Did anything be done to make it profitable for men with capital to put their capital into Irish land? The fertility of the soil was questioned by no one, nor the sufficiency of external circumstances such as railroads and the like, nor the abundance of labour, nor even security for the wealth to be produced. The only difficulty was in this, that the men who were to produce the wealth had no guarantee that it would be theirs when it was created. In England and elsewhere such guarantees were in existence. Might it not be possible to introduce them into Ireland? That was the question which Mr. Monk had in hand, and in various speeches which he made both before and after the dinners given to him, he pledged himself to keep it well in hand when Parliament should meet. Of course Phineas spoke also. It was impossible that he should be silent when his friend and leader was pouring out his eloquence. Of course he spoke, and of course he pledged himself. Something like the old pleasures of the debating society returned to him as standing upon a platform before a listening multitude, he gave full event to his words. In the House of Commons, of late, he had been so cabinned, cribbed, and confined by office, as to have enjoyed nothing of this. Indeed, from the commencement of his career, he had fallen so thoroughly into the decorum of government ways, as to have missed altogether the delights of that wild irresponsible oratory of which Mr. Monk had spoken to him so often. He had envied men below the gangway, who, though supporting the government on main questions, could get up on their legs whenever the House was full enough to make it worth their while, and say almost whatever they pleased. There was that Mr. Robson, who literally did say just what came uppermost, and the thing that came uppermost was often ill-natured, often unbecoming the gravity of the House, was always startling. But men listened to him, and liked him to speak. But Mr. Robson had, married a woman with money. Oh, why, why had not Violet Effingham been kinder to him? He might even yet, perhaps, marry a woman with money. But he could not bring himself to do so unless he loved her. The upshot of the Dublin meeting was that he also positively pledged himself to support, during the next session of Parliament, a Bill advocating tenant right. I am sorry you went so far as that, Mr. Monk said to him almost as soon as the meeting was over. They were standing on the pier at Kingstown, and Mr. Monk was preparing to return to England. And why not I, as far as you? As I have thought about it, and I do not think that you have. I am prepared to resign my office to-morrow, and directly that I can see Mr. Gresham, and explain to him what I have done, I shall offer to do so. He won't accept your resignation. He must accept it unless he is prepared to instruct the Irish Secretary to bring in such a Bill as I can support. I shall be exactly in the same boat. But you ought not to be in the same boat, nor need you. My advice to you is to say nothing about it till you get back to London, and then speak to Lord Kentrip. Tell him that you will not say anything on the subject in the house, but that in the event of there being a division, you hope to be allowed to vote as on an open question. It may be that I shall get Gresham's assent. And if so, we shall be all right. If I do not, and if they choose to make it a point with you, you must resign also. Of course I shall, said Phineas. But I do not think they will. You have been too useful, and they will wish to avoid the weakness which comes to a ministry from changing its team. Goodbye, my dear fellow, and remember this. My last word of advice to you is to stick by the ship. I am quite sure it is a career which will suit you. I did not begin it soon enough. Phineas was rather melancholy as he returned alone to Kililoy. It was all very well to bid him stick to the ship, and he knew as well as anyone could tell him how material the ship was to him. But there are circumstances in which a man cannot stick to the ship—cannot stick, at least, to this special government ship. He knew that whither Mr. Monk went in this session he must follow. He had considerable hope that when Mr. Monk explained his purpose to the prime minister, the prime minister would feel himself obliged to give way. In that case Phineas would not only be able to keep his office, but would have such an opportunity of making a speech in parliament as circumstances had never yet given to him. When he was again at home, he said nothing to his father or to the Kililoyans as to the danger of his position. Of what use would it be to make his mother and sisters miserable or to incur the useless counsels of the doctor? They seemed to think his speech a double and very fine, and were never tired of talking of what Mr. Monk and Phineas were going to do. But the idea had not come home to them that if Mr. Monk or Phineas chose to do anything on their own account, they must give up the places which they held under the crown. It was September when Phineas found himself back at Kililoy, and he was due to be at his office in London in November. The excitement of Mr. Monk's company was now over, and he had nothing to do but to receive pouches full of official papers from the colonial office, and study all the statistics which came within his reach in reference to the proposed new law for tenant right. In the meantime, Mary was still living with her mother at Kililoy, and still kept herself somewhat aloof from the man she loved. How could it be possible for him not to give way in such circumstances as those? One day he found himself talking to her about himself, and speaking to her of his own position with more frankness than he ever used with his own family. He had begun by reminding her of that conversation which they had had before he went away with Mr. Monk, and by reminding her also that she had promised to return to her old friendly ways with him. Nay, Phineas, there was no promise, she said. And are we not to be friends? I only said that I made no particular promise. Of course we are friends. We have always been friends. What would you say if you heard that I had resigned my office and given up my seat? He asked. Of course she expressed her surprise, almost her horror at such an idea, and then he told her everything. It took long in the telling, because it was necessary that he should explain to her the working of the system which made it impossible for him, as a member of the government, to entertain an opinion of his own. And do you mean that you would lose your salary? She asked. Certainly I should. Would that not be very dreadful? He laughed, as he acknowledged, that it would be dreadful. It is very dreadful, Mary, to have nothing to eat and drink. But what is a man to do? Would you recommend me to say that black is white? I am sure you will never do that. You see, Mary, it is very nice to be called by a big name, and to have a salary, and it is very comfortable to be envied by one's friends and enemies. But there are drawbacks. There is this special drawback. Then he paused for a moment before he went on. What a special drawback, Phineas! A man cannot do what he pleases with himself. How can a man marry so circumcised as I am? She hesitated for a moment, and then she answered him. A man may be very happy without marrying, I suppose. He also paused for many moments before he spoke again, and then she made a faint attempt to escape from him. But before she succeeded, he had asked her a question which arrested her. I wonder if you would listen to me if I were to tell you a history. Of course she listened, and the history he told her was the tale of his love for violet effingham. When she has money of her own, Mary asked. Yes, she is rich. She has a large fortune. Then, Mr. Phine, you must seek someone else who is equally blessed. Mary, that is untrue. That is ill-natured. You do not mean that. Say that you do not mean it. You have not believed that I loved Miss Effingham because she was rich. But you have told me that you could love no one who is not rich. I have said nothing of the kind. Love is involuntary. It does not often run in a yoke with prudence. I have told you my history, as far as that is concerned with violet effingham. I did love her very dearly. Did love her, Mr. Phine? Yes, did love her. Is there any inconsistency in seizing to love when one is not loved? Is there inconsistency in changing one's love and in loving again? I do not know, said Mary, to whom the occasion was becoming so embarrassing that she no longer was able to reply with words that had a meaning in them. If there be, dear, I am inconsistent," he paused, but of course she had not a syllable to say. I have changed my love, but I could not speak of a new passion till I had told the story of that which has passed away. You have heard it all now, Mary. Can you try to love me after that? It had come at last, the thing for which she had been ever wishing. It had come in spite of her imprudence, and in spite of her prudence. When she had heard him to the end she was not a whit angry with him. She was not in the least aggrieved, because he had been lost to her in his love for the smith's effingham, while she had been so nearly lost by her love for him. For women such episodes in the lives of their lovers have an excitement which is almost pleasurable, whereas each man is anxious to hear his lady swear that until he appeared upon the scene her heart had been fancy free. Mary upon the whole had liked the story, had thought that it had been finely told, and was well pleased with the final catastrophe. But nevertheless she was not prepared with her own reply. Have you no answer to give me, Mary? he said, looking up into her eyes. I am afraid that he did not doubt what would be her answer, as it would be good that all lovers should do. You must vouchsafe me some word, Mary. When she essayed to speak she found that she was dumb. She could not get her voice to give her the assistance of a single word. She did not cry, but there was a motion as of sobbing in her throat which impeded all utterance. She was as happy as earth as heaven could make her, but she did not know how to tell him that she was happy, and yet she longed to tell it that he might know how thankful she was to him for his goodness. He still sat looking at her, and now by degrees he had got her hand in his. Mary, he said, will you be my wife, my own wife? When half an hour had passed they were still together, and now she had found the use of her tongue. Do whatever you like best, she said. I do not care which you do. If you came to me to-morrow, and told me you had no income, it would make no difference. Though to love you, and to have your love, is all the world to me, though it makes all the difference between misery and happiness, I would sooner give up that than to be a clog on you. Then he took her in his arms and kissed her. Oh, Phineas, she said, I do love you so entirely. My own one. Yes, your own one. But if you had known it always. Never mind. Now you are my own. Are you not? Indeed, yes, dearest. Oh, what a thing it is to be victorious at last! What on earth are you two doing here these two hours together? said Barbara, bursting into the room. What are we doing? said Phineas. Yes, what are you doing? Nothing in particular, said Mary. Nothing at all in particular, said Phineas. Only this. That we have engaged ourselves to marry each other. It is quite a trifle, is it not, Mary? Oh, Barbara! said the joyful girl, springing forward into her friend's arms. I do believe I am the happiest creature on the face of this earth. CHAPTER 67 Of Phineas Finn, the Irish Member. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recorded by Mill Nicholson. Phineas Finn, the Irish Member, by Anthony Chollop. CHAPTER 67 Job's Comforters Before Phineas had returned to London, his engagement with Mary Flood Jones was known to all his family, was known to Mrs Flood Jones, and was indeed known generally to all Killer Lowy. That other secret of his, which had reference to the probability of his being obliged to throw up his office, was known only to Mary herself. He thought that he had done all that honour required of him in telling her of his position before he had proposed, so that she might on that ground refuse him if she were so minded. And yet he had known very well that such prudence on her part was not to be expected. If she loved him, of course she would say so when she was asked. And he had known that she loved him. There may be delay, Mary, he said to her, as he was going. Nay, there must be delay, if I am obliged to resign. I do not care a straw for delay, if you will be true to me, she said. Do you doubt my truth, dearest? Not in the least, I will swear by it as the one thing that is truest in the world. You may, dearest. And if this should come to pass, I must go to work, and put my shoulder to the wheel, and earn an income for you by my old profession, before I can make you my wife. With such a motive before me, I know that I shall earn an income. And thus they parted. Mary though, of course, she would have preferred that her future husband should remain in his eye-office, that he should be a member of parliament, and an under-secretary of state, admitted no doubt into her mind to disturb her happiness. And Phineas, though he had many misgivings as to the prudence of what he had done, was not the less strong in his resolution of constancy and endurance. He would throw up his position, resign his seat, and go to work at the bar instantly, if he found that his independence as a man required him to do so. And above all, let come what might, he would be true to Mary Flood Jones. December was half over before he saw Lord Cantrip. Yes, yes, said Lord Cantrip, when the under-secretary began to tell his story, I saw what you were about. I wish I had been at your elbow. If you knew the country as I know it, you would be as eager about it as I am. Then I can only say that I am very glad that I do not know the country as you know it. You see, Phine, it's my idea that if a man wants to make himself useful, he should stick to some special kind of work. With you it's a thousand pities that you should not do so. You think then I ought to resign? I don't say anything about that. As you wish it, of course I'll speak to Gresham. Monk I believe has resigned already. He has written to me and told me so, said Phineus. I always felt afraid of him for your sake, Phine. Mr. Monk is a clever man, and as honest a man as any in the house, but I always thought that he was a dangerous friend for you. However, we will see. I will speak to Gresham after Christmas. There is no hurry about it. When Parliament met, the first great subject of interest was the desertion of Mr. Monk from the ministry. He had once took his place below the gangway, sitting as it happened exactly in front of Mr. Turnbull, and there he made his explanation. Someone opposite asked a question whether a certain right honourable gentleman had not left the cabinet. Then Mr. Gresham replied that to his infinite regret, his right honourable friend, who lately presided at the Board of Trade, had resigned, and he went on to explain that this resignation had, according to his ideas, been quite unnecessary. His right honourable friend entertained certain ideas about Irish tenant right, as to which he himself and his right honourable friend the Secretary for Ireland could not exactly pledge themselves to be in unison with him. But he had thought that the motion might have rested at any rate over this session. Then Mr. Monk explained making his first great speech on Irish tenant right. He found himself obliged to advocate some immediate measure for giving security to the Irish farmer. And as he could not do so as a member of the cabinet, he was forced to resign the honour of that position. He said something also as to the great doubt which had ever weighed on his own mind, as to the inexpediency of a man at his time of life, submitting himself for the first time to the trammels of office. This called up Mr. Turnbull, who took the opportunity of saying that he now agreed cordially with his old friend for the first time since that old friend had listened to the blandishments of the ministerial seducer, and that he welcomed his old friend back to those independent benches with great satisfaction. In this way the debate was very exciting. Nothing was said which made it then necessary for Phineas to get upon his legs or to declare himself. But he perceived that the time would rapidly come in which he must do so. Mr. Gresham, though he strove to speak with gentle words, was evidently very angry with the late president of the Board of Trade, and moreover it was quite clear that a bill would be introduced by Mr. Munk himself, which Mr. Gresham was determined to oppose. If all this came to pass and there should be a close division, Phineas felt that his fate would be sealed. When he again spoke to Lord Cantrip on the subject, the Secretary of State shrugged his shoulders and shook his head. I can only advise you, said Lord Cantrip, to forget all that took place in Ireland. If you will do so, nobody else will remember it. As if it were possible to forget such things, he said in the letter which he wrote to Mary that night, of course I shall go now. If it were not for your sake, I should not in the least regret it. He had been with Madame Gersler frequently in the winter, and had discussed with her so often the question of his official position, that she had declared that she was coming at last to understand the mysteries of an English cabinet. I think you're quite right, my friend. She said, quite right. What, you ought to be in Parliament and say that this black thing is white or that this white thing is black because you'd like to take your salary? That cannot be honest. Then when he came to talk to her of money, that he must give up Parliament itself if he gave up his place, she offered to lend him money. Why should you not treat me as a friend? She said, when he pointed out to her that there would never come a time in which he could pay such money back, she stamped her foot and told him that he had better leave her. You have high principle, she said, but not principle sufficiently high to understand that this thing could be done between you and me without disgrace to either of us. Then Phineas assured her with tears in his eyes that such an arrangement was impossible without disgrace to him. But he whispered to his new friend no word of the engagement with his dear Irish Mary. His Irish life, he would tell himself, was a thing quite apart and separate from his life in England. He said not a word about Mary-Flood Jones to any of those with whom he lived in London. Why should he, feeling as he did, that it would so soon be necessary that he should disappear from among them? About Miss Effingham he had said much to Madame Gersler. She had asked him whether he had abandoned all hope. That affair then is over, she had said. Yes, it is all over now. And she will marry the red-headed, violent lord? Heaven knows, I think she will, but she is exactly the girl to remain unmarried if she takes it into her head that the man she likes is in any way unfitted for her. Does she love this lord? Oh yes, there is no doubt of that. And Phineas, as he made this acknowledgement, seemed to do so without much inward agony of soul. When he had last been in London, he could not speak of violet and lord children together without showing that his misery was almost too much for him. At this time he received some counsel from two friends. One was Lawrence Fitzgibbon and the other was Barrington Earl. Lawrence had always been true to him after fashion and had never resented his intrusion at the colonial office. Phineas, my boy, he said, if all this is true, you're about up a tree. It is true that I shall support Monk's motion. Then, my boy, you're up a tree as far as office goes. A place like that never suited me because you see that poker of a young lord expected so much of a man. But you don't mind that kind of thing and I thought you were a snug, a snug. Troubles will come, you see, Lawrence. Redad, yes, it's all troubles, I think, sometimes, but you've a way out of all your troubles. What way? Pop the question to Madame Max. The money's all true, you know. I doubt the money in the least, said Phineas. And it's my belief she'll take you without a second word. Anyway, try it, Phinea, my boy. That's my advice. Phineas so far agreed with his friend Lawrence that he thought it possible that Madame Gersler might accept him were he to propose marriage to her. He knew, of course, that that mode of escape from his difficulties was out of the question for him. But he could not explain this to Lawrence Fitzgibbon. I am sorry to hear that you've taken up a bad cause, said Barrington Earl to him. It is a pity, is it not? And the worst of it is that you will sacrifice yourself and do no good to the cause. I never knew a man break away in this fashion and not feel afterwards that he had done it all for nothing. But what is a man to do, Barrington? He can't smother his convictions. Convictions. There is nothing on earth that I'm so much afraid of in a young member of parliament as convictions. There are ever so many rocks against which men get broken. One man can't keep his temper. Another can't hold his tongue. A third can't say a word unless he has been priming himself half a session. A fourth is always thinking of himself and wanting more than he can get. A fifth is idle and won't be there when he's wanted. A sixth is always in the way. A seventh lies that you can never trust him. I've had to do with them all. But a fellow with convictions is the worst of all. I don't see how a fellow is to help himself, said Phineas. When a fellow begins to meddle with politics, they will come. Why can't you grow into them gradually as your betters and elders have done before you? It ought to be enough for any man when he begins to know that he's a liberal. He understands which side of the house he's to vote and who is to lead him. What's the meaning of having a leader to a party if it's not that? Do you think that you and Mr. Monk can go and make a government between you? Whatever I think, I'm sure he doesn't. I'm not so sure of that, but look here, Phineas. I don't care two straws about Monks going. I always thought that Mildmay and the Duke were wrong when they asked him to join. I knew he'd go over the traces unless indeed he took his money and did nothing for it, which is the way with some of those radicals. I look upon him as gone. He has gone. The devil go along with him, as you say in Ireland. But don't you be such a fool as to ruin yourself for a crochet of Monks. It isn't too late yet for you to hold back. To tell you the truth, Gresham has said a word to me about it already. He's most anxious that you should stay. But of course you can't stay and vote against us. Of course I cannot. I look upon you, you know, as in some sort my own child. I've tried to bring other fellows forward who seemed to have something in them, but I've never succeeded as I have with you. You've hit the thing off and have got the ball at your foot. Upon my honour and the whole course of my experience, I've never known such good fortune as yours. And I shall always remember how it began, Barrington, said Phineas, who was greatly moved by the energy and solicitude of his friend. But for God's sake, don't go and destroy it all by such mad perversity as this. They mean to do something next session. Morrison is going to take it up. So Walter Morrison was at this time Secretary for Ireland. But of course we can't let a fellow like Monk take the matter into his own hands just when he pleases. I call it damned treachery. Monk is no traitor, Barrington. Men will have their own opinions about that. It's generally understood that when a man is asked to take a seat in the cabinet, he is expected to conform with his colleagues unless something very special turns up. But I am speaking of you now and not of Monk. You are not a man of fortune. You cannot afford to make ducks and rakes. You are excellently placed and you have plenty of time to hark back if you'll only listen to reason. All that Irish stump balderdash will never be thrown in your teeth by us if you will just go on as though it had never been uttered. Phineas could only thank his friend for his advice, which was at least disinterested and was good of its kind and tell him that he would think of it. He did think of it very much. He almost thought that were it to do again, he would allow Mr. Monk to go upon his tour alone and keep himself from the utterance of anything that so good a judge's earl could call stump balderdash. As he sat in his armchair in his room at the colonial office with dispatch boxes around him and official papers spread before him, feeling himself to be one of those who in truth managed and governed the affairs of this great nation. Feeling also that if he relinquished his post now, he could never regain it. He did wish that he had been a little less in love with independence, a little quieter in his boastings, that no official considerations should ever silence his tongue. But all this was too late now. He knew that his skin was not thick enough to bear the arrows of those archers who would bend their bows against him if he should now dare to vote against Mr. Monk's motion. His own party might be willing to forgive and forget, but there would be others who would read those reports and would appear in the house with the odious telltale newspapers in their hands. Then he received a letter from his father. Some good-natured person had enlightened the doctor as to the danger in which his son was placing himself. Dr. Finn, who in his own profession was a very excellent and well-instructed man, had been so ignorant of parliamentary tactics as to have been proud at his son's success at the Irish meetings. He had thought that Finneas was carrying on his trade as a public speaker with proper energy and continued success. He had cared nothing himself for tenant right and had acknowledged to Mr. Monk that he could not understand in what it was that the farmers were wronged. But he knew that Mr. Monk was a cabinet minister and he thought that Finneas was earning his salary. Then there came someone who under-ceived him and the paternal bosom of the doctor was dismayed. I don't mean to interfere, he said in his letter. But I can hardly believe that you really intend to resign your place. Yet I am told that you must do so if you go on with this matter. My dear boy, pray think about it. I cannot imagine you are disposed to lose all that you have won for nothing. Mary also wrote to him. Mrs. Finn had been talking to her and Mary had taught herself to believe that after the many sweet conversations she had had with a man so high in office as Finneas, she really did understand something about the British government. Mrs. Finn had interrogated Mary and Mary had been obliged to own that it was quite possible that Finneas would be called upon to resign. But why, my dear? Heaven and earth resign two thousand a year? That he may maintain his independence, said Mary proudly. Fiddlestick, said Mrs. Finn, how is he to maintain you, odd himself, either, if he goes on in that way? I shouldn't wonder if he didn't get himself all wrong even now. Then Mrs. Finn began to cry and Mary could only write to her lover, pointed out to him how very anxious all his friends were that he should do nothing in a hurry. But what if the thing were done already? Finneas, in his great discomfort, went to seek further counsel from Madame Gersler. Of all his counsellors, Madame Gersler was the only one who applauded him for what he was about to do. But, after all, what is he to give up? Mr. Gureshon may be out tomorrow and then where will be your place? There does not seem to be much chance of that at present. Who can tell? Of course I do not understand. But it was only the other day when Mr. Mildmay was there and only the day before that when Lord Deterrier was there and again only the day before that when Lord Brock was there. Finneas endeavoured to make her understand that of the four prime ministers whom she had named three were men of the same party as himself, under whom it would have suited him to serve. I would not serve under any man if I were an English gentleman in Parliament," said Madame Gersler. What is a poor fellow to do? said Finneas laughing. A poor fellow need not be a poor fellow unless he likes, said Madame Gersler. Immediately after this Finneas left her and as he went along the street he began to question himself whether the prospects of his own darling Mary were at all endangered by his visits to Park Lane and to reflect what sort of a blaggard he would be, a blaggard of how deep a dye were he to desert Mary and marry Madame Max Gersler. Then he also asked himself as to the nature and quality of his own political honesty if he were to abandon Mary in order that he might maintain his parliamentary independence. After all, if it should come to pass that his biography should be written, his biography would say very much more about the manner in which he kept his seat in Parliament than of the manner in which he kept his engagement with Miss Mary Fleck-Jones. Half a dozen people who knew him and her might think ill of him for his conduct to Mary, but the world would not condemn him. After all, he thundered forth his liberal eloquence from below the gangway as an independent member, having the fortune of his charming wife to back him, giving excellent dinners at the same time in Park Lane, would not the world praise him very loudly? When he got to his office he found a note from Lord Brentford inviting him to dine in Portman Square. End of Chapter 67 Chapter 68 of Phineas Finn, the Irish Member This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org Recorded by Mil Nicholson Phineas Finn, the Irish Member by Anthony Chollop Chapter 68 The Joint Attack The note from Lord Brentford surprised our hero not a little. He had no communication with the Earl since the day on which he had been so savagely scolded about the duel, when the Earl had plainly told him that his conduct had been as bad as it could be. Phineas had not on that account become at all ashamed of his conduct in reference to the duel, but he had conceived that any reconciliation between him and the Earl had been out of the question. Now there had come a civilly-worded invitation, asking him to dine with the offended nobleman. The note had been written by Lady Laura, but it had purported to come from Lord Brentford himself. He sent back word to say that he would be happy to have the honour of dining with Lord Brentford. Parliament at this time had been sitting nearly a month, and it was already March. Phineas had heard nothing of Lady Laura and did not even know that she was in London till he saw her handwriting. He did not know that she had not gone back to her husband and that she had remained with her father all the winter at Salisbury. He had also heard that Lord Chilton had been at Salisbury. All the world had been talking of the separation of Mr. Kennedy from his wife. One half of the world, declaring that his wife, if not absolutely false to him, had neglected all her duties, and the other half asserting that Mr. Kennedy's treatment of his wife had been so bad that no woman could possibly have lived with him. There had even been a rumour that Lady Laura had gone off with a lover from the Duke of Omnium's garden party, and some indiscreet tongue had hinted that a certain unmarried under-secretary of state was missing at the same time. But Lord Chilton, upon this, had shown his teeth with so strong a propensity to do some real biting that no one had ventured to repeat that rumour. Its untruth was soon established by the fact that Lady Laura Kennedy was living with her father at Salisbury. Of Mr. Kennedy, Phineas had as yet seen nothing since he had been up in town. That gentleman, though a member of the Cabinet, had not been in London at the opening of the session, nor had he attended the Cabinet meetings during the recess. It had been stated in the newspapers that he was ill, and stated in private that he could not bear to show himself since his wife had left him. At last, however, he came to London, and Phineas saw him in the house. Then, when the first meeting of the Cabinet was summoned after his return, it became known that he also had resigned his office. There was nothing said about his resignation in the house. He had resigned on the score of ill health, and that very worthy peer, Lord Mount Thistle, formerly Sir Marma Duke Morkham, came back to the duchy of Lancaster in his place. A Prime Minister sometimes finds great relief in the possession of a serviceable stick who can be made to go in and out as occasion may require. Only it generally happens that the stick will expect some reward when he is made to go out. Lord Mount Thistle immediately saw his way to a Viscount's coronet, when he was once more summoned to the august councils of the ministers. A few days after this had been arranged in the interval between Lord Brentford's invitation and Lord Brentford's dinner, Phineas encountered Mr. Kennedy so closely in one of the passages of the house that it was impossible that they should not speak to each other unless they were to avoid each other as people do who have palpably quarrelled. Phineas saw that Mr. Kennedy was hesitating and therefore took the bull by the horns. He greeted his former friend in a friendly fashion, shaking him by the hand, and dared to pass on. But Mr. Kennedy, though he had hesitated at first, now detained his brother member. Phine, he said, if you're not engaged, I should like to speak to you for a moment. Phineas was not engaged and allowed himself to be led out, arm in arm, by the late Chancellor of the Duchy, into Westminster Hall. Of course you know what a terrible thing has happened to me, said Mr. Kennedy. Yes, I have heard of it, said Phineas. Everybody has heard of it. That is one of the terrible cruelties of such a blow. All those things are very bad, of course, though he's very much grieved because you have both been intimate friends of mine. Yes, yes, we were. Do you ever see her now? Not since last July at the Duke's party, you know. Ah, yes. The morning of that day was the last in which I spoke to her. It was then she left me. I am going to dine with Lord Brentford tomorrow, and I dare say she will be there. Yes, she is in town. I saw her yesterday in her father's carriage. I think that she had no cause to leave me. Of course I cannot say anything about that. I think she had no cause to leave me. Phineas, as he heard this, could not but remember all that Lady Laura had told himself and thought that no woman had ever had a better reason for leaving her husband. There were things I did not like, and I said so. I suppose that is generally the way, replied Phineas. But surely a wife should listen to a word of caution from her husband. I fancy they never like it, said Phineas. But are we all of us to have all that we like? I have not found it so. Or would it be good for us, if we had? Then he paused. But as Phineas had no further remark to make, he continued speaking after they had walked about a third of the length of the hall. It is not of my own comfort I am thinking now so much as of her name and her future conduct. Of course it will be in every sense to be best for her that she should come back to her husband's roof. Well, yes, perhaps it would, said Phineas. Has she not accepted that lot for better or for worse? Said Mr. Kennedy solemnly. But incompatibility of temper, you know, is always, always supposed. You understand me? It is my intention that she should come back to me. I do not wish to make any legal demand at any rate not as yet. Will you consent to be the bearer of a message from me both to herself and to the Earl? Now it seemed to Phineas that of all the messengers whom Mr. Kennedy could have chosen, he was the most unsuited to a mercury in this cause, not perceiving that he had been so selected with some craft in order that Lady Laura might understand that his accusation against her was at any rate withdrawn which had named Phineas as her lover. He paused again before he answered. Of course, he said, I should be most willing to be of service if it were possible, but I do not see how I can speak to the Earl about it, though I am going to dine with him I don't know why he's asked me, for he and I are on very bad terms. He heard that stupid story about the duel and has not spoken to me since. I heard that too, said Mr. Kennedy, frowning blackly as he remembered his wife's duplicity. Everybody heard of it, but it has made such a difference between him and me that I don't think I can meddle. Send for Lord Chilton and speak to him. Speak to Chilton? Never. He would probably strike me on the head with his club. Call on the Earl yourself. I did, and he would not see me. Write to him. I did, and he sent back my letter unopened. Write to her. I did, and she answered me saying only thus. Indeed, indeed, it cannot be so. But it must be so. The laws of God require it, and the laws of man permit it. I want someone to point out that to them more softly than I could do if I were simply to write to that effect. To the Earl, of course, I cannot write again. The conference ended by a promise from Phineas that he would, if possible, say a word to Lady Laura. When he was shown into Lord Brentford's drawing-room, he found not only Lady Laura there, but her brother. Lord Brentford was not in the room. Barrington Earl was there, and so also the Lord and Lady Kentrip. Is not your father going to be here? he said to Lady Laura after their first meeting. We live in that hope, she said, and do not at all know why he should be late. What has become of him, Oswald? He came in with me half an hour ago, and I suppose he does not dress as quickly as I do, said Lord Chilton, upon which Phineas immediately understood that the father and the son were reconciled, and he rushed to the conclusion that Violet and her lover would also soon be reconciled if such were not already the case. He felt some remnant of a sawness that it should be so, as a man feels where his headache has been when the real ache itself has left him. Then the host came in and made his apologies. Chilton kept me standing about, he said, till the east wind had chilled me through and through. The only charm I recognize in youth is that it is impervious to the east wind. Phineas felt quite sure now, and Violet and her lover reconciled, and he had a distinct feeling of the place where the ache had been. Dear Violet, but after all Violet lacked that sweet, clinging, feminine softness which made Mary flood Jones so preeminently the most charming of her sex. The earl, when he had repeated his general apology, especially to Lady Cantrip, who was the only lady present except his daughter, came up to our hero and shook him kindly by the hand. He took him up to one of the windows and then dressed him in a voice of mock solemnity. Stick to the colony's young man, he said, and never meddle with foreign affairs, especially not at Blankenburg. Never again, my lord, never again, and leave all questions of firearms to be arranged between the horse-guards and the war-office. I have heard a good deal about it since I saw you and I retract a part of what I said, but a duel is a foolish thing, a very foolish thing. Come, here is dinner. And the earl walked off with Lady Cantrip and Lord Cantrip walked off with Lady Laura, Barrington earl followed and Phineas had an opportunity of saying a word to his friend Lord Chilton as they went down together. It's all right between you and your father. Yes, after a fashion. There's no knowing how long it will last. He wants me to do three things, and I won't do any one of them. What of the three? To go into Parliament, to be an owner of sheep and oxen and to hunt in his own county. I should never attend the first, I should ruin myself with the second, and I should never get a run in the third. But there was not a word said about his marriage. There were only seven who sat down to dinner and the six were all people with whom Phineas was or had been on most intimate terms. Lord Cantrip was his official chief and since that connection had existed between them Lady Cantrip had been very gracious to him. She quite understood the comfort which it was to her husband to have under him as his representative in the House of Commons a man whom he could thoroughly trust and like and therefore she had used her woman's arts to bind Phineas to her lord in more than mere official bondage. She had tried her skill also upon Lawrence Fitzgibbon but altogether in vain. He had eaten her dinners and accepted her courtesies and had given for them no return whatever. But Phineas had possessed a more grateful mind and had done all that had been required of him had done all that had been required of him till there had come that terrible absurdity in Ireland. I knew very well what sort of things would happen when they brought such a man as Mr. Monk into the Cabinet. Lady Cantrip had said to her husband but though the party was very small and though the guests were all his intimate friends Phineas suspected nothing special till an attack was made upon him as soon as the servants had left the room. This was done in the presence of the two ladies and, no doubt, had been pre-concerted. There was Lord Cantrip there who had already said much to him the Earl who had said more even than Lord Cantrip. Lord Brentard himself as a member of the Cabinet opened the attack by asking whether it was actually true that Mr. Monk meant to go on with his motion. Barrington Earl asserted that Mr. Monk positively would do so. And Gresham will oppose it, asked the Earl. Of course he will, said Barrington. Of course he will, said Lord Cantrip. I know what I should think of him if he did not, said Lady Cantrip. He is the last man in the world to be forced into a thing, said Lady Laura. Then Phineas knew pretty well what was coming on him. Lord Brentford began again by asking how many supporters Mr. Monk would have in the House. Well, that depends upon the amount of courage which the Conservatives may have, said Barrington Earl. If they dare to vote for a thoroughly democratic measure, simply for the sake of turning us out, it is quite on the cards that they may succeed. But of our own people, asked Lord Cantrip. You had better inquire that of Phineas Finn, said Barrington. And then the attack was made. Our hero had a bad half-hour of it. So many words were said which must have gratified him much. They all wanted to keep him. So Lord Cantrip declared. Except one or two whom I could name and who are particularly anxious to wear his shoes, said Barrington, thinking that certain reminiscences of Phineas with regard to Mr. Bonteen and others might operate as strongly as any other consideration to make him love his place. Well, Brentford declared that he could not understand it, that he should find himself lost in amazement if such a man as his young friend allowed himself to be led into the outer wilderness by such an igneous fatuous of light as this. Lord Cantrip laid down the unwritten traditional law of government officials very plainly. A man in office. In an office which really imposed upon him as much work as he could possibly do with credit to himself for his cause, was dispensed from the necessity of a conscience with reference to other matters. It was for Sir Walter Morrison to have a conscience about Irish tenant right, as no doubt he had, just as Phineas Finn had a conscience about Canada and Jamaica and the Cape. Barrington Earl was very strong about parties in general and painted the comforts of official position in glowing colours. But I think that the two ladies were more efficacious than even their male relatives and the arguments which they used. We have been so happy to have you among us, said Lady Cantrip, looking at him with beseeching, almost loving eyes. Mr Finn knows, said Lady Laura, that since he first came into Parliament I've always believed in his success and I have been very proud to see it. We shall weep over him as over a fallen angel if he leaves us, said Lady Cantrip. I won't say that I will weep, said Lady Laura, but I do not know anything of the kind that would so truly make me unhappy. What was he to say in answer to applications so flattering and so pressing? He would have said nothing had that been possible, but he felt himself obliged to reply. He replied very weakly, of course not justifying himself, but declaring that as he had gone so far as he must go further, he must vote for the measure now. Both his chief and Barrington Earl proved, or attempted to prove, that he was wrong in this. Of course he would not speak on the measure and his vote for his party would probably be allowed to pass without notice. One or two newspapers might perhaps attack him, but what public man cared for such attacks as those? His whole party would hang by him and in that he would find ample consolation. Phineas could only say that he would think of it, and this he said in so irresolute a tone of voice that all the men then present believed that he was gained. The two ladies, however, were of a different opinion. In spite of anything that anybody may say, he will do what he thinks right when the time comes, said Laura to her father afterwards, but then Lady Laura had been in love with him, was perhaps almost in love with him still. I'm afraid he is a mule, said Lady Cantrip to her husband. He's a good mule up a hill with a load on his back, said his lordship. But with the mule there always comes a time when you can't manage him, said Lady Cantrip. But Lady Cantrip had never been in love with Phineas. Phineas found a moment before he left Lord Brantford's house to say a word to Lady Laura as to the commission that had been given to him. It can never be, said Lady Laura shuddering. Never, never, never! You're not angry with me for speaking. Oh no, not if he told you. He made me promise that I would. Tell him it cannot be. Tell him that if he has any instruction to send me as to what he considers to be my duty I will endeavour to comply if that duty can be done apart. I will recognise him so far because of my vow. But not even for the sake of my vow will I endeavour to live with him. His presence would kill me. When Phineas repeated this, or as much of this as he judged to be necessary to Mr. Kennedy a day or two afterwards, that gentleman replied that in such case he would have no alternative but to seek redress at law. I have done nothing to my wife, said he, of which I need be ashamed. It will be sad no doubt to have all our affairs bandied about in court and made the subject of comment and newspapers, but a man must go through that, or worse than that, in the vindication of his rights and for the performance of his duty to his maker. That very day Mr. Kennedy went to his lawyer and desired that steps might be taken for the restitution to him of his conjugal rights. Recorded by Mill Nicholson Phineas Finn, the Irish member, by Anthony Chollop Chapter 69 The Temptress Mr. Monck's bill was read the first time before Easter, and Phineas Finn still held his office. He had spoken to the Prime Minister once on the subject and had been surprised at that gentleman's courtesy, for Mr. Gresham had the reputation of being unconciliatory in his manners and very prone to resent anything like desertion from that allegiance which was due to himself as the leader of his party. You had better stay where you are and take no step that may be irretrievable till you have quite made up your mind, said Mr. Gresham. I fear I have made up my mind, said Phineas. Nothing can be done till after Easter, replied the great man, and there is no knowing how things may go then. I strongly recommend you stay with us. If you can do this, it will be only necessary that you shall put your resignation in Lord Cantrip's hands before you speak or vote against us. See Monck and talk it over with him. Mr. Gresham possibly imagined that Mr. Monck might be moved to abandon his bill when he saw what injury he was about to do. At this time Phineas received the following letter from his darling Mary. Floodborough, Thursday Dearest Phineas We have just got home from Killalui and mean to remain here all through the summer. After leaving your sisters this house seems so desolate, but I shall have the more time to think of you. I have been reading Tennyson, as you told me, and I fancy that I could in truth be a Marianna here if it were not that I am so quite certain that you will come, and that makes all the difference in the world in a moted Grange. Last night I sat at the window and tried to realise what I should feel if you were to tell me that you did not want me, and I got myself into such an ecstatic state of mock melancholy that I cried for half an hour. But when one has such a real living joy at the back of one's romantic melancholy, tears are very pleasant. They water and do not burn. I must tell you about them all at Killalui. They certainly are very unhappy at the idea of your resigning. Your father says very little, but I made him own that to act as you are acting for the sake of principle is very grand. I would not leave him till he had said so, and he did say it. Dear Mrs. Finn does not understand it as well, but she will do so. She complains mostly for my sake, and when I tell her that I will wait twenty years if it is necessary, she tells me I do not know what waiting means. But I will, and will be happy and will never really think myself a Marianna. Dear, dear, dear Finnies, indeed I won't. The girls are half sad and half proud, but I am wholly proud and know that you are doing just what you ought to do. I shall think more of you as a man who might have been a Prime Minister than if you were really sitting in the Cabinet of Lord Cantrip. As for Mama, I cannot make her quite understand it. She merely says that no young man who is going to be married ought to resign anything. Dear Mama, sometimes she does say such odd things. You told me to tell you everything, and so I have. I talk to some of the people here and tell them what they might do if they had ten and right. One old fellow, Mike Dofferty, I don't know whether you remember him, asked if you would have to pay the rent at all the same. When I said certainly he would, then he shook his head. But as you said once, when we want to do good to people, one has no right to expect that they should understand it. It is like baptising little infants. I got both your notes. Seven words in one, Mr. Under Secretary, and nine in the other. But the one little word at the end was worth a whole sheet full of common words. How nice it is to write letters without paying postage, and to send them about the world with a grand name in the corner. When Barney brings me one he always looks as if he didn't know whether it was a love letter or an order to go to Watney Bay. If he saw the inside of them, how short they are. I don't think he'd think much of you as a lover, nor yet as an Under Secretary. But I think ever so much of you as both. I do, indeed. And I am not scolding you a bit. As long as I can have two or three dear, sweet, loving words I shall be as happy as a queen. Ah, if you knew it all. But you never can know it all. A man has so many other things to learn that he cannot understand it. Goodbye, dear. Dear, dearest man. Whatever you do I shall be quite sure you have done the best. Ever your own with all the love of her heart. Mary F. Jones. This was very nice. Such a man as was a man such a man as was Phineas Finn always takes a delight which he cannot express even to himself in the receipt of such a letter as this. There is nothing so flattering as the warm expression of the confidence of a woman's love. And Phineas thought that no woman ever expressed this more completely than did his Mary. Dear, dearest Mary. As for giving her up as for treachery so trusting, so sweet, so well-beloved. That was out of the question. But nevertheless the truth came home to him more clearly day by day that he of all men was the last who ought to have given himself up to such a passion. For her sake he ought to have abstained. So he told himself now for her sake he ought to have kept aloof from her and for his own sake he ought to have kept aloof from Mr. Monk. That very day with Mary's letter in his pocket he went to the livery stables and explained that he would not keep his horse any longer. There was no difficulty about the horse Mr. Howard McLeod of the treachery would take him from that very hour. Phineas as he walked away uttered a curse upon Mr. Howard McLeod. Mr. Howard McLeod was just beginning the glory of his life in London and he, Phineas Finn was bringing his to an end. With Mary's letter in his pocket he went up to Portman Square. He had again got into the habit of seeing Lady Laura frequently and was often with her brother who now again lived at his father's house. A letter had reached Lord Brentford through his lawyer in which a demand was made by Mr. Kennedy for the return of his wife. She was quite determined that she would never go back to him and they had come to her a doubt that she could not be expedient that she should live abroad so as to be out of the way of persecution from her husband. Lord Brentford was in great wrath and Lord Chilton had once or twice hinted that perhaps he had better see Mr. Kennedy. The amenities of such an interview as this would be had up to the present day been postponed and in a certain way Phineas had been used as a messenger between Mr. Kennedy and his wife's family. I think it will end she said in my going to Dresden and settling myself there the power will come to me when Parliament is not sitting. It will be very dull. Dull! What does dullness amount to when one has come to such a pass as this? When one is in the rock of fortune to be dull as very bad but when misfortune comes simple dullness is nothing it sounds almost like relief. It is so hard that you should be driven away. She did not answer him for a while and he was beginning to think of his own case also. Was it not hard that he too should be driven away? It is odd enough that we should both be going at the same time. But you will not go. I think I shall. I have resolved upon this that if I give up my place I will give up my seat too. I went into Parliament with the hope of office and how can I remain there when I shall have gained it and then have lost it? But you will stay in London, Mr Finn? I think not. After all that has come and gone I should not be happy here and I should make my way easier and on cheaper terms in Dublin. My present idea is that I shall endeavour to make a practice over in my own country. It will be hard work beginning at the bottom will it not? And so unnecessary ah, Lady Laura if it only could be avoided but it is of no use going through all that again. How much we would both of us avoid if we could only have another chance said Lady Laura if I could only be as I was before I persuaded myself to marry a man whom I never loved or to paradise the earth would be to me. With me all regrets are too late and with me as much so. No, Mr Finn even should you resign your office there is no reason why you should give up your seat simply that I even know income to maintain me in London she was silent for a few moments during which she changed her seat so as to come nearer to him placing herself on a corner of a sofa close to the chair on which he was seated I wonder whether I may speak to you plainly she said indeed you may on any subject yes on any subject I trust you have been able to rid your of all remembrances of violet effingham certainly not of all remembrances Lady Laura of all hope then I have no such hope and of all lingering desires well yes and of all lingering desires I know now that it cannot be your brother is welcome to her ah of that I know nothing he with his perversity has estranged her but I'm sure of this that if she do not marry him she will marry no one but it is not on account of him that I speak he must fight his own battles now I shall not interfere with him Lady Laura then why should you not establish yourself by a marriage that will make place a matter of indifference to you I know that it is within your power to do so then you put his hand up to his breastcoat pocket and felt that Mary's letter her precious letter was there safe it certainly was not in his power to do this thing which Lady Laura recommended to him but he hardly thought that the present was a moment suitable for explaining to her the nature of the impediment which stood in the way of such an arrangement he had so lately spoken to Lady Laura with an assurance of undying constancy of his love for laughing him that he could not as yet acknowledge the force of another passion he shook his head by way of reply I tell you that it is so she said with energy I'm afraid not go to Madame Gersler and ask her hear what she will say Madame Gersler would laugh at me nor doubt you do not think so you know that she would not laugh and are you the man to be afraid of a woman's laughter I think not again he did not answer her at once and when he did speak the tone of his voice was altered what is it you said of yourself just now what did I say of myself you regret it that you had consented to marry a man whom you did not love why should you not love her and it is so different with a man a woman is wretched if she does not love her husband but I fancy that a man gets on very well without any such feeling she cannot domineer over you she cannot expect you to pluck yourself out of your own soil and begin a new growth altogether in accordance with the laws of her own it was that which Mr. Kennedy did I do not for a moment think that she would take me if I were to offer myself try her said Lady Laura energetically such trials cost you but little you both of us know that still he said nothing of the letter in his pocket it is everything that you should go on now that you have once begun I do not believe in you working at the bar you cannot do it a man who has commenced life as you have done the commitment of politics who has known what it is to take a prominent part in the control of public affairs cannot give it up and be happy at other work make her your wife and you may resign or remain in office just as you choose office will be much easier to you than it is now because it will not be a necessity let me at any rate have the pleasure of thinking that one of us can remain here together still he did not tell her of the letter in his pocket he felt that she moved him that she made him acknowledge to himself how great would be the pity of such a failure as would be his he was quite as much alive as she could be to the fact that work at the bar either in London or in Dublin would have no charms for him now the prospect of such a life was very dreary to him and then he knew he thought that he knew that were he to offer himself to Madame Gersler he would not in truth be rejected she had told him that if poverty was a trouble to him he needn't be no longer poor of course he had understood this her money was at his service if he should choose to stoop and pick it up and it was not only money that such a marriage would give him he had acknowledged to himself more than once that Madame Gersler was very lovely that she was clever attractive in every way and as far as he could see blessed with a sweet temper she had positioned too in the world that would help him rather than ma him what might he not do with an independent seat in the House of Commons and as joint owner of the little house in Park Lane and in all careers which the world could offer to a man the pleasantest would then be within his reach you appear to me as a tempter he said at last to Lady Laura it is unkind of you to say that and ungrateful I would do anything on earth in my power to help you nevertheless you are a tempter I know how it ought to have been she said in a low voice I know very well how it ought to have been I should have kept myself free to that time when we met on the braze of Loughlanter and then all would have been well with us I do not know how that might have been said Phineas Horsley you do not know but I know of course you have stabbed me with a thousand daggers when you told me from time to time of your love for Violet you've been very cruel needlessly cruel men are so cruel but for all that I have known that I could have kept you had it not been too late when you spoke to me will you not own as much as that of course you would have been everything to me I should never have thought of Violet then that is the only kind word you have said to me from that day to this I try to comfort myself in thinking that it would have been so but all that is past and gone and done I have had my romance and you have had yours as you are a man it is natural that you should have been disturbed by a double image it is not so with me and yet you can advise me to offer marriage to a woman a woman whom I am to seek because she is rich yes I do so advise you you have had your romance and must now put up with reality why should I so advise you but for the interest that I have in you your prosperity will do me no good I shall not even be here to see it I shall hear of it only as so many a woman banished out of England hears a distant misunderstood report of what is going on in the country she has left but I still have regard enough I will be bold and knowing that you will not take it a miss will say love enough for you to feel a desire that you should not be shipwrecked since we first took you in hand between us, Barrington and I I have never swerved in my anxiety on your behalf when I resolved that it would be better for us both that we should be only friends I did not swerve when you would talk to me so cruelly of your love for Violet I did not swerve when I warned you from Loughlanter because I thought there was danger I did not swerve when I bade you not to come to me in London because of my husband I did not swerve when my father was hard upon you I did not swerve then I would not leave him till he was softened when you tried to rob Oswald of his love and I thought you would succeed for I did think so I did not swerve I have ever been true to you and now that I must hide myself and go away and be seen no more I am true still Laura dearest Laura he exclaimed ah no she said speaking with no touch of anger but all in sorrow it must not be like that there is no room for that nor do you mean it I do not think so ill of you but there may not be even words of affection between us only such as I may speak to make you know that I am your friend you are my friend he said stretching out his hand to her as he turned away his face you are my friend indeed then do as I would have you do he put his hand into his pocket and had the letter between his fingers with the purport of showing it to her but at the moment the thought occurred to him that were he to do so then indeed he would be bound forever he knew that he was bound forever bound forever to his own merry but he desired to have the privilege of thinking over such bondage once more before he proclaimed it even to his dearest friend he had told her that she tempted him and she stood before him now as a temptress but lest it might be possible that she should not tempt in vain that letter in his pocket must never be shown to her in that case Lady Laura must never hear from his lips the name of Mary Flood Jones he left her without any assured purpose without that is the assurance to her of any fixed purpose there yet wanted a week to the day on which Mr. Monk's bill was to be read or not to be read the second time and he had still that interval before he need decide he went to his club and before he dined he strove to write a line to Mary but when he had the paper before him he found that it was impossible to do so though he did not even suspect himself of an intention to be false the idea that was in his mind made the effort too much for him he put the paper away from him and went down and ate his dinner it was a Saturday and there was no house in the evening he had remained in Portman Square with Lady Laura till near seven o'clock he was engaged to go out in the evening to a gathering at Mrs. Gresham's house everybody in London would be there and Phineas was resolved that as long as he remained in London he would be seen at places where everybody was seen he would certainly be at Mrs. Gresham's gathering but there was an hour or two before he need to go home to dress and as he had nothing to do he went down to the smoking-room of his club the seats were crowded and vacant and before he had looked about him to scrutinise his neighbourhood he found that he had placed himself with Bonteen on his right hand and Rattler on his left there were no two men in all London whom he more thoroughly disliked but it was too late for him to avoid them now they instantly attacked him first on one side and then on the other I'm told you're going to leave us said Bonteen who can have been ill-natured enough to whisper such a thing replied Phineas the whispers are very loud I can tell you I think I know already pretty nearly how every man in the house will vote but I have not got your name down on the right side change it for heaven's sake said Phineas I will, if you'll tell me seriously my opinion is said Bonteen that a man should be known either as a friend or foe I respect a declared foe no means a declared foe then said Phineas and respect me that's all very well said Rattler but it means nothing I've always had a sort of fear about you Phine that you would go over the traces some day of course it's a very grand thing the finest thing in the world said Bonteen only so damned useless when a man shouldn't be independent and stick to the ship at the same time you forget the trouble you cause and how you upset all calculations I hadn't thought of the calculations said Phineas the fact is Phine said Bonteen you are made of clay too fine for office I always found it has been so with men from your country you are the grandest horse in the world to look at out on a prairie but you don't like the slavery of harness and the sound of a whip over our shoulders sets us kicking does it not Rattler I shall show the list to Gresham tomorrow said Rattler and of course he can do as he pleases but I don't understand this kind of thing don't you be in a hurry said Bonteen I'll bet you are sovereign Phine votes with us yet there's nothing like being a little coy to set off a girl's charms I'll bet you are sovereign Rattler that Phine goes out into the lobby with you and me against Monk's bill Phineas not being able to stand any more of this most unpleasant railery got up and went away the club was distasteful to him and he walked off and salted for a while about the park he went down by the Duke of York's column as though he were going to his office which of course was closed at this hour but turned round when he got beyond the new public buildings buildings which he was never destined to use in their completed state and entered the gates of the enclosure and wandered on over the bridge across the water as he went his mind was full of thought could it be good for him to give up everything for a fair face he swore to himself that of all women whom he had ever seen Mary was the sweetest and the dearest and the best if it could be well to lose the world for a woman it would be well to lose it for her Violet with all her skill and all her strength and all her grace could never have written such a letter as that which he still held in his pocket the best charm of a woman is that she should be soft and trusting and generous and whoever had been more soft more trusting and more generous than his Mary of course he would be true to her though he did lose the world but to yield such a triumph to the rattlers and bonteens whom he left behind him to let them have their will over him to know that they would rejoice scurrilously behind his back over his downfall the feeling was terrible to him the last words which Bonteen had spoken made it impossible to him now not to support his old friend Mr. Monk it was not only what Bonteen had said but at the words of Mr. Bonteen so plainly indicated what would be the words of all the other Bonteens he knew that he was weak in this he knew that had he been strong he would have allowed himself to be guided if not by the firm decision of his own spirit by the councils of such men as Mr. Gresham and Launt Cantrip and not by the sarcasms of the Bonteens and rattlers of official life but men who sojourn amidst savagery fear the mosquito more than they do the lion he could not bear to think that he should yield his blood to such a one as Bonteen and he must yield his blood unless he could vote for Mr. Monk's motion and hold his ground afterwards among them all in the House of Commons he would at any rate see the session out and try a fall with Mr. Bonteen when they should be sitting on different benches if ever fortune should give him an opportunity and in the meantime what should he do about Madame Gursler what a fate was his to have the handsomest woman in London with thousands and thousands a year at his disposal for so he now swore to himself Madame Gursler was the handsomest woman in London as Mary Flood Jones was the sweetest girl in the world he had not arrived at any decision so fixed as to make him comfortable when he went home and dressed for Mrs. Gresham's party and yet he knew he thought that he knew that he would be true to Mary Flood Jones End of Chapter 69