Phineas, as he heard the tones of her voice, could not but feel that there was in Lady Laura’s words something of an accusation against her husband.
“I hate justice,” said Phineas. “I know that justice would condemn me. But love and friendship know nothing of justice. The value of love is that it overlooks faults, and forgives even crimes.”
“I, at any rate,” said Lady Laura, “will forgive the crime of your silence in the House. My strong belief in your success will not be in the least affected by what you tell me of your failure tonight. You must await another opportunity; and, if possible, you should be less anxious as to your own performance. There is Violet.” As Lady Laura spoke the last words, there was a sound of a carriage stopping in the street, and the front door was immediately opened. “She is staying here, but has been dining with her uncle, Admiral Effingham.” Then Violet Effingham entered the room, rolled up in pretty white furs, and silk cloaks, and lace shawls. “Here is Mr. Finn, come to tell us of the debate about the ballot.”
“I don’t care twopence about the ballot,” said Violet, as she put out her hand to Phineas. “Are we going to have a new iron fleet built? That’s the question.”
“Sir Simeon has come out strong tonight,” said Lady Laura.
“There is no political question of any importance except the question of the iron fleet,” said Violet. “I am quite sure of that, and so, if Mr. Finn can tell me nothing about the iron fleet, I’ll go to bed.”
“Mr. Kennedy will tell you everything when he comes home,” said Phineas.
“Oh, Mr. Kennedy! Mr. Kennedy never tells one anything. I doubt whether Mr. Kennedy thinks that any woman knows the meaning of the British Constitution.”
“Do you know what it means, Violet?” asked Lady Laura.
“To be sure I do. It is liberty to growl about the iron fleet, or the ballot, or the taxes, or the peers, or the bishops—or anything else, except the House of Commons. That’s the British Constitution. Good night, Mr. Finn.”
“What a beautiful creature she is!” said Phineas.
“Yes, indeed,” said Lady Laura.
“And full of wit and grace and pleasantness. I do not wonder at your brother’s choice.”
It will be remembered that this was said on the day before Lord Chiltern had made his offer for the third time.
“Poor Oswald! he does not know as yet that she is in town.”
After that Phineas went, not wishing to await the return of Mr. Kennedy. He had felt that Violet Effingham had come into the room just in time to remedy a great difficulty. He did not wish to speak of his love to a married woman—to the wife of the man who called him friend—to a woman who he felt sure would have rebuked him. But he could hardly have restrained himself had not Miss Effingham been there.
But as he went home he thought more of Miss Effingham than he did of Lady Laura; and I think that the voice of Miss Effingham had done almost as much towards comforting him as had the kindness of the other.
At any rate, he had been comforted.
XXI
“Do Be Punctual”
On the very morning after his failure in the House of Commons, when Phineas was reading in the Telegraph—he took the Telegraph not from choice but for economy—the words of that debate which he had heard and in which he should have taken a part, a most unwelcome visit was paid to him. It was near eleven, and the breakfast things were still on the table. He was at this time on a Committee of the House with reference to the use of potted peas in the army and navy, at which he had sat once—at a preliminary meeting—and in reference to which he had already resolved that as he had failed so frightfully in debate, he would certainly do his duty to the utmost in the more easy but infinitely more tedious work of the Committee Room. The Committee met at twelve, and he intended to walk down to the Reform Club, and then to the House. He had just completed his reading of the debate and of the leaders in the Telegraph on the subject. He had told himself how little the writer of the article knew about Mr. Turnbull, how little about Mr. Monk, and how little about the people—such being his own ideas as to the qualifications of the writer of that leading article—and was about to start. But Mrs. Bunce arrested him by telling him that there was a man below who wanted to see him.
“What sort of a man, Mrs. Bunce?”
“He ain’t a gentleman, sir.”
“Did he give his name?”
“He did not, sir; but I know it’s about money. I know the ways of them so well. I’ve seen this one’s face before somewhere.”
“You had better show him up,” said Phineas. He knew well the business on which the man was come. The man wanted money for that bill which Laurence Fitzgibbon had sent afloat, and which Phineas had endorsed. Phineas had never as yet fallen so deeply into troubles of money as to make it necessary that he need refuse himself to any callers on that score, and he did not choose to do so now. Nevertheless he most heartily wished that he had left his lodgings for the club before the man had come. This was not the first he had heard of the bill being overdue and unpaid. The bill had been brought to him noted a month since, and then he had simply told the youth who brought it that he would see Mr. Fitzgibbon and have the matter settled. He had spoken to his friend Laurence, and Laurence had simply assured him that all should be made right in two days—or, at furthest, by the end of a week. Since
