“And it makes me sad too,” said Phineas. “I try to shake off the melancholy, and tell myself from day to day that it is unmanly. But it gets the better of me just at present.”
“I feel quite certain that you will come back among us again,” said Mr. Monk.
“Everybody tells me so; and yet I feel quite certain that I shall never come back—never come back with a seat in Parliament. As my old tutor, Low, has told me scores of times, I began at the wrong end. Here I am, thirty years of age, and I have not a shilling in the world, and I do not know how to earn one.”
“Only for me you would still be receiving ever so much a year, and all would be pleasant,” said Mr. Monk.
“But how long would it have lasted? The first moment that Daubeny got the upper hand I should have fallen lower than I have fallen now. If not this year, it would have been the next. My only comfort is in this—that I have done the thing myself, and have not been turned out.” To the very last, however, Mr. Monk continued to express his opinion that Phineas would come back, declaring that he had known no instance of a young man who had made himself useful in Parliament, and then had been allowed to leave it in early life.
Among those of whom he was bound to take a special leave, the members of the family of Lord Brentford were, of course, the foremost. He had already heard of the reconciliation of Miss Effingham and Lord Chiltern, and was anxious to offer his congratulation to both of them. And it was essential to him that he should see Lady Laura. To her he wrote a line, saying how much he hoped that he should be able to bid her adieu, and a time was fixed for his coming at which she knew that she would meet him alone. But, as chance ruled it, he came upon the two lovers together, and then remembered that he had hardly ever before been in the same room with both of them at the same time.
“Oh, Mr. Finn, what a beautiful speech you made. I read every word of it,” said Violet.
“And I didn’t even look at it, old fellow,” said Chiltern, getting up and putting his arm on the other’s shoulder in a way that was common with him when he was quite intimate with the friend near him.
“Laura went down and heard it,” said Violet. “I could not do that, because I was tied to my aunt. You can’t conceive how dutiful I am during this last month.”
“And is it to be in a month, Chiltern?” said Phineas.
“She says so. She arranges everything—in concert with my father. When I threw up the sponge, I simply asked for a long day. ‘A long day, my lord,’ I said. But my father and Violet between them refused me any mercy.”
“You do not believe him,” said Violet.
“Not a word. If I did he would want to see me on the coast of Flanders again, I don’t doubt. I have come to congratulate you both.”
“Thank you, Mr. Finn,” said Violet, taking his hand with hearty kindness. “I should not have been quite happy without one nice word from you.”
“I shall try and make the best of it,” said Chiltern. “But, I say, you’ll come over and ride Bonebreaker again. He’s down there at the Bull, and I’ve taken a little box close by. I can’t stand the governor’s county for hunting.”
“And will your wife go down to Willingford?”
“Of course she will, and ride to hounds a great deal closer than I can ever do. Mind you come, and if there’s anything in the stable fit to carry you, you shall have it.”
Then Phineas had to explain that he had come to bid them farewell, and that it was not at all probable that he should ever be able to see Willingford again in the hunting season. “I don’t suppose that I shall make either of you quite understand it, but I have got to begin again. The chances are that I shall never see another foxhound all my life.”
“Not in Ireland!” exclaimed Lord Chiltern.
“Not unless I should have to examine one as a witness. I have nothing before me but downright hard work; and a great deal of that must be done before I can hope to earn a shilling.”
“But you are so clever,” said Violet. “Of course it will come quickly.”
“I do not mean to be impatient about it, nor yet unhappy,” said Phineas. “Only hunting won’t be much in my line.”
“And will you leave London altogether?” Violet asked.
“Altogether. I shall stick to one club—Brooks’s; but I shall take my name off all the others.”
“What a deuce of a nuisance!” said Lord Chiltern.
“I have no doubt you will be very happy,” said Violet; “and you’ll be a Lord Chancellor in no time. But you won’t go quite yet.”
“Next Sunday.”
“You will return. You must be here for our wedding;—indeed you must. I will not be married unless you do.”
Even this, however, was impossible. He must go on Sunday, and must return no more. Then he made his little farewell speech, which he could not deliver without some awkward stuttering. He would think of her on the day of her marriage, and pray that she might be happy. And he would send her a little trifle before he went, which he hoped she would wear in remembrance of their old friendship.
“She shall wear it, whatever it is, or I’ll know the reason why,” said Chiltern.
“Hold your tongue, you rough bear!” said Violet. “Of course I’ll wear it. And of course I’ll think of the giver. I shall have many presents, but
