“Mr. Finn,” said Madame Max Goesler, “your eyes and ears are telltales of your passion.”
“I hope not,” said Phineas, “as I certainly do not wish that anyone should guess how strong is my regard for you.”
“That is prettily turned—very prettily turned; and shows more readiness of wit than I gave you credit for under your present suffering. But of course we all know where your heart is. Men do not undertake perilous journeys to Belgium for nothing.”
“That unfortunate journey to Belgium! But, dear Madame Max, really nobody knows why I went.”
“You met Lord Chiltern there?”
“Oh yes;—I met Lord Chiltern there.”
“And there was a duel?”
“Madame Max—you must not ask me to criminate myself!”
“Of course there was, and of course it was about Miss Effingham, and of course the lady thinks herself bound to refuse both the gentlemen who were so very wicked, and of course—”
“Well—what follows?”
“Ah! if you have not wit enough to see, I do not think it can be my duty to tell you. But I wished to caution you as a friend that your eyes and ears should be more under your command.”
“You will go to Saulsby?” Violet said to Lord Chiltern.
“I cannot possibly tell as yet,” said he, frowning.
“Then I can tell you that you ought to go. I do not care a bit for your frowns. What does the fifth commandment say?”
“If you have no better arguments than the commandments, Violet—”
“There can be none better. Do you mean to say that the commandments are nothing to you?”
“I mean to say that I shan’t go to Saulsby because I am told in the twentieth chapter of Exodus to honour my father and mother—and that I shouldn’t believe anybody who told me that he did anything because of the commandments.”
“Oh, Lord Chiltern!”
“People are so prejudiced and so used to humbug that for the most part they do not in the least know their own motives for what they do. I will go to Saulsby tomorrow—for a reward.”
“For what reward?” said Violet, blushing.
“For the only one in the world that could tempt me to do anything.”
“You should go for the sake of duty. I should not even care to see you go, much as I long for it, if that feeling did not take you there.”
It was arranged that Phineas and Lord Chiltern were to leave Matching together. Phineas was to remain at his office all October, and in November the general election was to take place. What he had hitherto heard about a future seat was most vague, but he was to meet Ratler and Barrington Erle in London, and it had been understood that Barrington Erle, who was now at Saulsby, was to make some inquiry as to that group of boroughs of which Loughton at this moment formed one. But as Loughton was the smallest of four boroughs, and as one of the four had for many years had a representative of its own, Phineas feared that no success would be found there. In his present agony he began to think that there might be a strong plea made for a few private seats in the House of Commons, and that the propriety of throwing Loughton into the melting-pot was, after all, open to question. He and Lord Chiltern were to return to London together, and Lord Chiltern, according to his present scheme, was to proceed at once to Willingford to look after the cub-hunting. Nothing that either Violet or Phineas could say to him would induce him to promise to go to Saulsby. When Phineas pressed it, he was told by Lord Chiltern that he was a fool for his pains—by which Phineas understood perfectly well that when Lord Chiltern did go to Saulsby, he, Phineas, was to take that as strong evidence that everything was over for him as regarded Violet Effingham. When Violet expressed her eagerness that the visit should be made, she was stopped with an assurance that she could have it done at once if she pleased. Let him only be enabled to carry with him the tidings of his betrothal, and he would start for his father’s house without an hour’s delay. But this authority Violet would not give him. When he answered her after this fashion she could only tell him that he was ungenerous. “At any rate I am not false,” he replied on one occasion. “What I say is the truth.”
There was a very tender parting between Phineas and Madame Max Goesler. She had learned from him pretty nearly all his history, and certainly knew more of the reality of his affairs than any of those in London who had been his most staunch friends. “Of course you’ll get a seat,” she said as he took his leave of her. “If I understand it at all, they never throw over an ally so useful as you are.”
“But the intention is that in this matter nobody shall any longer have the power of throwing over, or of not throwing over, anybody.”
“That is all very well, my friend; but cakes will still be hot in the mouth, even though Mr. Daubeny turn purist, with Mr. Turnbull to help him.
