“I don’t think he loves those who oppose him.”
“It is not the opposition he hates, but the cause in the man’s mind which may produce it. When Sir Orlando opposed him, and he thought that Sir Orlando’s opposition was founded on jealousy, then he despised Sir Orlando. But had he believed in Sir Orlando’s belief in the new ships, he would have been capable of pressing Sir Orlando to his bosom, although he might have been forced to oppose Sir Orlando’s ships in the Cabinet.”
“He is a Sir Bayard to you,” said Phineas, laughing.
“Rather a Don Quixote, whom I take to have been the better man of the two. I’ll tell you what he is, Phineas, and how he is better than all the real knights of whom I have ever read in story. He is a man altogether without guile, and entirely devoted to his country. Do not quarrel with him, if you can help it.”
Phineas had not the slightest desire to quarrel with his chief; but he did think it to be not improbable that his chief would quarrel with him. It was notorious to him as a member of the Cabinet—as a colleague living with other colleagues by whom the Prime Minister was coddled, and especially as the husband of his wife, who lived almost continually with the Prime Minister’s wife—that the Duke was cut to the quick by the accusation that he had hounded Ferdinand Lopez to his death. The Prime Minister had defended himself in the House against the first charge by means of Phineas Finn, and now required Phineas to defend him from the second charge in another way. This he was obliged to refuse to do. And then the Minister’s private Secretary looked very grave, and left him with the impression that the Duke would be much annoyed, if not offended. And already there had grown up an idea that the Duke would have on the list of his colleagues none who were personally disagreeable to himself. Though he was by no means a strong Minister in regard to political measures, or the proper dominion of his party, still men were afraid of him. It was not that he would call upon them to resign, but that, if aggrieved, he would resign himself. Sir Orlando Drought had rebelled and had tried a fall with the Prime Minister—and had greatly failed. Phineas determined that if frowned upon he would resign, but that he certainly would bring no action for libel against the People’s Banner.
A week passed after he had seen Warburton before he by chance found himself alone with the Prime Minister. This occurred at the house in Carlton Gardens, at which he was a frequent visitor—and could hardly have ceased to be so without being noticed, as his wife spent half her time there. It was evident to him then that the occasion was sought for by the Duke. “Mr. Finn,” said the Duke, “I wanted to have a word or two with you.”
“Certainly,” said Phineas, arresting his steps.
“Warburton spoke to you about that—that newspaper.”
“Yes, Duke. He seemed to think that there should be an action for libel.”
“I thought so too. It was very bad, you know.”
“Yes;—it was bad. I have known the People’s Banner for some time, and it is always bad.”
“No doubt;—no doubt. It is bad, very bad. Is it not sad that there should be such dishonesty, and that nothing can be done to stop it? Warburton says that you won’t hear of an action in your name.”
“There are reasons, Duke.”
“No doubt;—no doubt. Well;—there’s an end of it. I own I think the man should be punished. I am not often vindictive, but I think that he should be punished. However, I suppose it cannot be.”
“I don’t see the way.”
“So be it. So be it. It must be entirely for you to judge. Are you not longing to get into the country, Mr. Finn?”
“Hardly yet,” said Phineas, surprised. “It’s only June, and we have two months more of it. What is the use of longing yet?”
“Two months more!” said the Duke. “Two months certainly. But even two months will come to an end. We go down to Matching quietly—very quietly—when the time does come. You must promise that you’ll come with us. Eh? I make a point of it, Mr. Finn.”
Phineas did promise, and thought that he had succeeded in mastering one of the difficult passages in that book.
LXIII
The Duchess and Her Friend
But the Duke, though he was by far too magnanimous to be angry with Phineas Finn because Phineas would not fall into his views respecting the proposed action, was not the less tormented and goaded by what the newspaper said. The assertion that he had hounded Ferdinand Lopez to his death, that by his defence of himself he had brought the man’s blood on his head, was made and repeated till those around him did not dare to mention the name of Lopez in his hearing. Even his wife was restrained and became fearful, and in her heart of hearts began almost to wish for that retirement to which he had occasionally alluded as a distant Elysium which he should never be allowed to reach. He was beginning to have the worn look of an old man. His scanty hair was turning grey, and his long thin cheeks longer and thinner. Of what he did when sitting alone in his chamber, either at home or at the Treasury Chamber, she knew less and less from day to day, and she began to think that much of his sorrow arose from the fact that among them they would allow him to do nothing. There was no special subject now which stirred him to eagerness and brought upon herself explanations which were tedious and unintelligible to her, but evidently delightful to him. There were no quints or semi-tenths now, no aspirations for decimal perfection, no delightfully fatiguing
