“My experience is short, but it sometimes seems to me that there is too much to be done.”
“Too much of nothingness, Mr. Finn. Is not that the case? But now there is a real fight in the lists. The one great drawback to the life of women is that they cannot act in politics.”
“And which side would you take?”
“What, here in England?” said Madame Max Goesler—from which expression, and from one or two others of a similar nature, Phineas was led into a doubt whether the lady were a countrywoman of his or not. “Indeed, it is hard to say. Politically I should want to out-Turnbull Mr. Turnbull, to vote for everything that could be voted for—ballot, manhood suffrage, womanhood suffrage, unlimited right of striking, tenant right, education of everybody, annual parliaments, and the abolition of at least the bench of bishops.”
“That is a strong programme,” said Phineas.
“It is strong, Mr. Finn, but that’s what I should like. I think, however, that I should be tempted to feel a dastard security in the conviction that I might advocate my views without any danger of seeing them carried out. For, to tell you the truth, I don’t at all want to put down ladies and gentlemen.”
“You think that they would go with the bench of bishops?”
“I don’t want anything to go—that is, as far as real life is concerned. There’s that dear good Bishop of Abingdon is the best friend I have in the world—and as for the Bishop of Dorchester, I’d walk from here to there to hear him preach. And I’d sooner hem aprons for them all myself than that they should want those pretty decorations. But then, Mr. Finn, there is such a difference between life and theory;—is there not?”
“And it is so comfortable to have theories that one is not bound to carry out,” said Phineas.
“Isn’t it? Mr. Palliser, do you live up to your political theories?” At this moment Mr. Palliser was sitting perfectly silent between Lady Hartletop and the Duke’s daughter, and he gave a little spring in his chair as this sudden address was made to him. “Your House of Commons theories, I mean, Mr. Palliser. Mr. Finn is saying that it is very well to have far advanced ideas—it does not matter how far advanced—because one is never called upon to act upon them practically.”
“That is a dangerous doctrine, I think,” said Mr. Palliser.
“But pleasant—so at least Mr. Finn says.”
“It is at least very common,” said Phineas, not caring to protect himself by a contradiction.
“For myself,” said Mr. Palliser gravely, “I think I may say that I always am really anxious to carry into practice all those doctrines of policy which I advocate in theory.”
During this conversation Lady Hartletop sat as though no word of it reached her ears. She did not understand Madame Max Goesler, and by no means loved her. Mr. Palliser, when he had made his little speech, turned to the Duke’s daughter and asked some question about the conservatories at Longroyston.
“I have called forth a word of wisdom,” said Madame Max Goesler, almost in a whisper.
“Yes,” said Phineas, “and taught a Cabinet Minister to believe that I am a most unsound politician. You may have ruined my prospects for life, Madame Max Goesler.”
“Let me hope not. As far as I can understand the way of things in your Government, the aspirants to office succeed chiefly by making themselves uncommonly unpleasant to those who are in power. If a man can hit hard enough he is sure to be taken into the elysium of the Treasury bench—not that he may hit others, but that he may cease to hit those who are there. I don’t think men are chosen because they are useful.”
“You are very severe upon us all.”
“Indeed, as far as I can see, one man is as useful as another. But to put aside joking—they tell me that you are sure to become a minister.”
Phineas felt that he blushed. Could it be that people said of him behind his back that he was a man likely to rise high in political position? “Your informants are very kind,” he replied awkwardly, “but I do not know who they are. I shall never get up in the way you describe—that is, by abusing the men I support.”
After that Madame Max Goesler turned round to Mr. Grey, who was sitting on the other side of her, and Phineas was left for a moment in silence. He tried to say a word to Lady Hartletop, but Lady Hartletop only bowed her head gracefully in recognition of the truth of the statement he made. So he applied himself for a while to his dinner.
“What do you think of Miss Effingham?” said Madame Max Goesler, again addressing him suddenly.
“What do I think about her?”
“You know her, I suppose.”
“Oh yes, I know her. She is closely connected with the Kennedys, who are friends of mine.”
“So I have heard. They tell me that scores of men are raving about her. Are you one of them?”
“Oh yes;—I don’t mind being one of sundry scores. There is nothing particular in owning to that.”
“But you admire her?”
“Of course I do,” said Phineas.
“Ah, I see you are joking. I do amazingly. They say women never do admire women, but I most sincerely do admire Miss Effingham.”
“Is she a friend of yours?”
“Oh no;—I must not dare to say so much as that. I was with her last winter for a week at Matching, and of course I meet her about at people’s houses. She seems to me to be the most independent girl I ever knew in my life. I do believe that nothing would make her marry a man unless she loved him and honoured him, and I think it is so very seldom that you can say that of a girl.”
“I believe so also,” said Phineas. Then he paused a moment before he continued to
