“For Mr. Bonteen personally I care nothing.”
“But of course you must endure the ill-effects of his influence—be they what they may. When you seceded from our Government you looked for certain adverse consequences. If you did not, where was your self-sacrifice? That such men as Mr. Bonteen should feel that you had scuttled the ship, and be unable to forgive you for doing so—that is exactly the evil which you knew you must face. You have to face it now, and surely you can do so without showing your teeth. Hereafter, when men more thoughtful than Mr. Bonteen shall have come to acknowledge the high principle by which your conduct has been governed, you will receive your reward. I suppose Mr. Daubeny must resign now.”
“Everybody says so.”
“I am by no means sure that he will. Any other Minister since Lord North’s time would have done so, with such a majority against him on a vital measure; but he is a man who delights in striking out some wonderful course for himself.”
“A prime minister so beaten surely can’t go on.”
“Not for long, one would think. And yet how are you to turn him out? It depends very much on a man’s power of endurance.”
“His colleagues will resign, I should think.”
“Probably;—and then he must go. I should say that that will be the way in which the matter will settle itself. Good morning, Finn;—and take my word for it, you had better not answer Mr. Bonteen’s letter.”
Not a word had fallen from Lord Cantrip’s friendly lips as to the probability of Phineas being invited to join the future Government. An attempt had been made to console him with the hazy promise of some future reward—which however was to consist rather of the good opinion of good men than of anything tangible and useful. But even this would never come to him. What would good men know of him and of his self-sacrifice when he should have been driven out of the world by poverty, and forced probably to go to some New Zealand or back Canadian settlement to look for his bread? How easy, thought Phineas, must be the sacrifices of rich men, who can stay their time, and wait in perfect security for their rewards! But for such a one as he, truth to a principle was political annihilation. Two or three years ago he had done what he knew to be a noble thing;—and now, because he had done that noble thing, he was to be regarded as unfit for that very employment for which he was peculiarly fitted. But Bonteen and Co. had not been his only enemies. His luck had been against him throughout. Mr. Quintus Slide, with his People’s Banner, and the story of that wretched affair in Judd Street, had been as strong against him probably as Mr. Bonteen’s ill-word. Then he thought of Lady Laura, and her love for him. His gratitude to Lady Laura was boundless. There was nothing he would not do for Lady Laura—were it in his power to do anything. But no circumstance in his career had been so unfortunate for him as this affection. A wretched charge had been made against him which, though wholly untrue, was as it were so strangely connected with the truth, that slanderers might not improbably be able almost to substantiate their calumnies. She would be in London soon, and he must devote himself to her service. But every act of friendship that he might do for her would be used as proof of the accusation that had been made against him. As he thought of all this he was walking towards Park Lane in order that he might call upon Madame Goesler according to his promise. As he went up to the drawing-room he met old Mr. Maule coming down, and the two bowed to each other on the stairs. In the drawing-room, sitting with Madame Goesler, he found Mrs. Bonteen. Now Mrs. Bonteen was almost as odious to him as was her husband.
“Did you ever know anything more shameful, Mr. Finn,” said Mrs. Bonteen, “than the attack made upon Mr. Bonteen the night before last?” Phineas could see a smile on Madame Goesler’s face as the question was asked;—for she knew, and he knew that she knew, how great was the antipathy between him and the Bonteens.
“The attack was upon Mr. Gresham, I thought,” said Phineas.
“Oh, yes; nominally. But of course everybody knows what was meant. Upon my word there is twice more jealousy among men than among women. Is there not, Madame Goesler?”
“I don’t think any man could be more jealous than I am myself,” said Madame Goesler.
“Then you’re fit to be a member of a Government, that’s all. I don’t suppose that there is a man in England has worked harder for his party than Mr. Bonteen.”
“I don’t think there is,” said Phineas.
“Or made himself more useful in Parliament. As for work, only that his constitution is so strong, he would have killed himself.”
“He should take Thorley’s mixture—twice a day,” said Madame Goesler.
“Take!—he never has time to take anything. He breakfasts in his dressing-room, carries his lunch in his pocket, and dines with the division bell ringing him up between his fish and his mutton chop. Now he has got their decimal coinage in hand, and has not a moment to himself, even on Sundays!”
“He’ll be sure to go to Heaven for it—that’s one comfort.”
“And because they are absolutely obliged to make him Chancellor of the Exchequer—just as if he had not earned it—everybody is so jealous that they are ready to tear him to pieces!”
“Who is everybody?” asked Phineas.
“Oh! I know. It wasn’t only Sir Orlando Drought.
