“People have been talking about me and Mr. Finn, because I just now, at this very moment, called him A 1 to you! If you want to scold me about anything, aunt, do find out something less ridiculous than that.”
“It was most improper language—and if you used it to me, I am sure you would to others.”
“To what others?”
“To Mr. Finn—and those sort of people.”
“Call Mr. Finn A 1 to his face! Well—upon my honour I don’t know why I should not. Lord Chiltern says he rides beautifully, and if we were talking about riding I might do so.”
“You have no business to talk to Lord Chiltern about Mr. Finn at all.”
“Have I not? I thought that perhaps the one sin might palliate the other. You know, aunt, no young lady, let her be ever so ill-disposed, can marry two objectionable young men—at the same time.”
“I said nothing about your marrying Mr. Finn.”
“Then, aunt, what did you mean?”
“I meant that you should not allow yourself to be talked of with an adventurer, a young man without a shilling, a person who has come from nobody knows where in the bogs of Ireland.”
“But you used to ask him here.”
“Yes—as long as he knew his place. But I shall not do so again. And I must beg you to be circumspect.”
“My dear aunt, we may as well understand each other. I will not be circumspect, as you call it. And if Mr. Finn asked me to marry him tomorrow, and if I liked him well enough, I would take him—even though he had been dug right out of a bog. Not only because I liked him—mind! If I were unfortunate enough to like a man who was nothing, I would refuse him in spite of my liking—because he was nothing. But this young man is not nothing. Mr. Finn is a fine fellow, and if there were no other reason to prevent my marrying him than his being the son of a doctor, and coming out of the bogs, that would not do so. Now I have made a clean breast to you as regards Mr. Finn; and if you do not like what I’ve said, aunt, you must acknowledge that you have brought it on yourself.”
Lady Baldock was left for a time speechless. But no card was sent to Phineas Finn.
XLIII
Promotion
Phineas got no card from Lady Baldock, but one morning he received a note from Lord Brentford which was of more importance to him than any card could have been. At this time, bit by bit, the Reform Bill of the day had nearly made its way through the committee, but had been so mutilated as to be almost impossible of recognition by its progenitors. And there was still a clause or two as to the rearrangement of seats, respecting which it was known that there would be a combat—probably combats—carried on after the internecine fashion. There was a certain clipping of counties to be done, as to which it was said that Mr. Daubeny had declared that he would not yield till he was made to do so by the brute force of majorities;—and there was another clause for the drafting of certain superfluous members from little boroughs, and bestowing them on populous towns at which they were much wanted, respecting which Mr. Turnbull had proclaimed that the clause as it now stood was a fainéant clause, capable of doing, and intended to do, no good in the proper direction; a clause put into the bill to gull ignorant folk who had not eyes enough to recognise the fact that it was fainéant; a make-believe clause—so said Mr. Turnbull—to be detested on that account by every true reformer worse than the old Philistine bonds and Tory figments of representation, as to which there was at least no hypocritical pretence of popular fitness. Mr. Turnbull had been very loud and very angry—had talked much of demonstrations among the people, and had almost threatened the House. The House in its present mood did not fear any demonstrations—but it did fear that Mr. Turnbull might help Mr. Daubeny, and that Mr. Daubeny might help Mr. Turnbull. It was now May—the middle of May—and ministers, who had been at work on their Reform Bill ever since the beginning of the session, were becoming weary of it. And then, should these odious clauses escape the threatened Turnbull-Daubeny alliance—then there was the House of Lords! “What a pity we can’t pass our bills at the Treasury, and have done with them!” said Laurence Fitzgibbon. “Yes, indeed,” replied Mr. Ratler. “For myself, I was never so tired of a session in my life. I wouldn’t go through it again to be made—no, not to be made Chancellor of the Exchequer.”
Lord Brentford’s note to Phineas Finn was as follows:—
House of Lords, 16th May, 186‒.
My dear Mr. Finn,
You are no doubt aware that Lord Bosanquet’s death has taken Mr. Mottram into the Upper House, and that as he was Undersecretary for the Colonies, and as the Undersecretary must be in the Lower House, the vacancy must be filled up.
The heart of Phineas Finn at this moment was almost in his mouth. Not only to be selected for political employment, but to be selected at once for an office so singularly desirable! Undersecretaries, he fancied, were paid two thousand a year. What would Mr. Low say now? But his great triumph soon received a check. “Mr. Mildmay has spoken to me on the subject,” continued the letter, “and informs me that he has offered the place at the colonies to his old supporter, Mr. Laurence Fitzgibbon.” Laurence Fitzgibbon!
I am inclined to think that he could not have done better, as Mr. Fitzgibbon has shown great zeal for his party. This will vacate the Irish seat at the Treasury Board, and I am commissioned by Mr. Mildmay to offer it to you. Perhaps you will do me
