“It is not so easy as it seems. The very necessity of sitting still in the boat is in itself irksome—very irksome. And then there comes some crisis in which a man cannot sit still.”
“Is there any such crisis at hand now?”
“I cannot say that;—but I am beginning to find that sitting still is very disagreeable to me. When I hear those fellows below having their own way, and saying just what they like, it makes me furious. There is Robson. He tried office for a couple of years, and has broken away; and now, by George, there is no man they think so much of as they do of Robson. He is twice the man he was when he sat on the Treasury Bench.”
“He is a man of fortune;—is he not?”
“I suppose so. Of course he is, because he lives. He never earns anything. His wife had money.”
“My dear Finn, that makes all the difference. When a man has means of his own he can please himself. Do you marry a wife with money, and then you may kick up your heels, and do as you like about the Colonial Office. When a man hasn’t money, of course he must fit himself to the circumstances of a profession.”
“Though his profession may require him to be dishonest.”
“I did not say that.”
“But I say it, my dear Low. A man who is ready to vote black white because somebody tells him, is dishonest. Never mind, old fellow. I shall pull through, I daresay. Don’t go and tell your wife all this, or she’ll be harder upon me than ever when she sees me.” After that Mr. Low began to think that his wife’s judgment in this matter had been better than his own.
Robson could do as he liked because he had married a woman with money. Phineas told himself that that game was also open to him. He, too, might marry money. Violet Effingham had money;—quite enough to make him independent were he married to her. And Madame Goesler had money;—plenty of money. And an idea had begun to creep upon him that Madame Goesler would take him were he to offer himself. But he would sooner go back to the Bar as the lowest pupil, sooner clean boots for barristers—so he told himself—than marry a woman simply because she had money, than marry any other woman as long as there was a chance that Violet might be won. But it was very desirable that he should know whether Violet might be won or not. It was now July, and everybody would be gone in another month. Before August would be over he was to start for Ireland with Mr. Monk, and he knew that words would be spoken in Ireland which might make it indispensable for him to be, at any rate, able to throw up his office. In these days he became more anxious than he used to be about Miss Effingham’s fortune.
He had never spoken as yet to Lord Brentford since the day on which the Earl had quarrelled with him, nor had he ever been at the house in Portman Square. Lady Laura he met occasionally, and had always spoken to her. She was gracious to him, but there had been no renewal of their intimacy. Rumours had reached him that things were going badly with her and her husband; but when men repeated such rumours in his presence, he said little or nothing on the subject. It was not for him, at any rate, to speak of Lady Laura’s unhappiness. Lord Chiltern he had seen once or twice during the last month, and they had met cordially as friends. Of course he could ask no question from Lord Chiltern as to Violet; but he did learn that his friend had again patched up some reconciliation with his father. “He has quarrelled with me, you know,” said Phineas.
“I am very sorry, but what could I do? As things went, I was obliged to tell him.”
“Do not suppose for a moment that I am blaming you. It is, no doubt, much better that he should know it all.”
“And it cannot make much difference to you, I should say.”
“One doesn’t like to quarrel with those who have been kind to one,” said Phineas.
“But it isn’t your doing. He’ll come right again after a time. When I can get my own affairs settled, you may be sure I’ll do my best to bring him round. But what’s the reason you never see Laura now?”
“What’s the reason that everything goes awry?” said Phineas, bitterly.
“When I mentioned your name to Kennedy the other day, he looked as black as thunder. But it is not odd that anyone should quarrel with him. I can’t stand him. Do you know, I sometimes think that Laura will have to give it up. Then there will be another mess in the family!”
This was all very well as coming from Lord Chiltern; but there was no word about Violet, and Phineas did not know how to get a word from anyone. Lady Laura could have told him everything, but he could not go to Lady Laura. He did go to Lady Baldock’s house as often as he thought he could with propriety, and occasionally he saw Violet. But he could do no more than see her, and the days and weeks were passing by, and the time was coming in which he would have to go away, and be with her no more. The end of the season, which was always to other men—to other working men such as our hero—a period of pleasurable anticipation, to him was a time of sadness, in which he felt that he was not exactly like to, or even equal to, the men with whom he lived in London. In the old days, in which he was allowed
