THE COMPLETE PALLISER NOVELS (All 6 Novels in One Edition). Anthony Trollope

a truth which he would not like to hear. Then he did ask it. “And do you like him?” he said.

      She too paused, but only for a second. “Yes,—I think I may say that I do like him.”

      “No more than that?”

      “Certainly no more than that;—but that I think is a great deal.”

      “I wonder what you would say if any one asked you whether you liked me,” said Phineas, looking away from her through the window.

      “Just the same;—but without the doubt, if the person who questioned me had any right to ask the question. There are not above one or two who could have such a right.”

      “And I was wrong, of course, to ask it about Mr. Kennedy,” said Phineas, looking out into the Square.

      “I did not say so.”

      “But I see you think it.”

      “You see nothing of the kind. I was quite willing to be asked the question by you, and quite willing to answer it. Mr. Kennedy is a man of great wealth.”

      “What can that have to do with it?”

      “Wait a moment, you impetuous Irish boy, and hear me out.” Phineas liked being called an impetuous Irish boy, and came close to her, sitting where he could look up into her face; and there came a smile upon his own, and he was very handsome. “I say that he is a man of great wealth,” continued Lady Laura; “and as wealth gives influence, he is of great use,—politically,—to the party to which he belongs.”

      “Oh, politically!”

      “Am I to suppose you care nothing for politics? To such men, to men who think as you think, who are to sit on the same benches with yourself, and go into the same lobby and be seen at the same club, it is your duty to be civil both for your own sake and for that of the cause. It is for the hermits of society to indulge in personal dislikings,—for men who have never been active and never mean to be active. I had been telling Mr. Kennedy how much I thought of you,—as a good Liberal.”

      “And I came in and spoilt it all.”

      “Yes, you did. You knocked down my little house, and I must build it all up again.”

      “Don’t trouble yourself, Lady Laura.”

      “I shall. It will be a great deal of trouble,—a great deal, indeed; but I shall take it. I mean you to be very intimate with Mr. Kennedy, and to shoot his grouse, and to stalk his deer, and to help to keep him in progress as a liberal member of Parliament. I am quite prepared to admit, as a friend, that he would go back without some such help.”

      “Oh;—I understand.”

      “I do not believe that you do understand at all, but I must endeavour to make you do so by degrees. If you are to be my political pupil, you must at any rate be obedient. The next time you meet Mr. Kennedy, ask him his opinion instead of telling him your own. He has been in Parliament twelve years, and he was a good deal older than you when he began.” At this moment a side door was opened, and the red-haired, red-bearded man whom Phineas had seen before entered the room. He hesitated a moment, as though he were going to retreat again, and then began to pull about the books and toys which lay on one of the distant tables, as though he were in quest of some article. And he would have retreated had not Lady Laura called to him.

      “Oswald,” she said, “let me introduce you to Mr. Finn. Mr. Finn, I do not think you have ever met my brother, Lord Chiltern.” Then the two young men bowed, and each of them muttered something. “Do not be in a hurry, Oswald. You have nothing special to take you away. Here is Mr. Finn come to tell us who are all the possible new Prime Ministers. He is uncivil enough not to have named papa.”

      “My father is out of the question,” said Lord Chiltern.

      “Of course he is,” said Lady Laura, “but I may be allowed my little joke.”

      “I suppose he will at any rate be in the Cabinet,” said Phineas.

      “I know nothing whatever about politics,” said Lord Chiltern.

      “I wish you did,” said his sister,—”with all my heart.”

      “I never did,—and I never shall, for all your wishing. It’s the meanest trade going I think, and I’m sure it’s the most dishonest. They talk of legs on the turf, and of course there are legs; but what are they to the legs in the House? I don’t know whether you are in Parliament, Mr. Finn.”

      “Yes, I am; but do not mind me.”

      “I beg your pardon. Of course there are honest men there, and no doubt you are one of them.”

      “He is indifferent honest,—as yet,” said Lady Laura.

      “I was speaking of men who go into Parliament to look after Government places,” said Lord Chiltern.

      “That is just what I’m doing,” said Phineas. “Why should not a man serve the Crown? He has to work very hard for what he earns.”

      “I don’t believe that the most of them work at all. However, I beg your pardon. I didn’t mean you in particular.”

      “Mr. Finn is such a thorough politician that he will never forgive you,” said Lady Laura.

      “Yes, I will,” said Phineas, “and I’ll convert him some day. If he does come into the House, Lady Laura, I suppose he’ll come on the right side?”

      “I’ll never go into the House, as you call it,” said Lord Chiltern. “But, I’ll tell you what; I shall be very happy if you’ll dine with me tomorrow at Moroni’s. They give you a capital little dinner at Moroni’s, and they’ve the best Château Yquem in London.”

      “Do,” said Lady Laura, in a whisper. “Oblige me.”

      Phineas was engaged to dine with one of the Vice-Chancellors on the day named. He had never before dined at the house of this great law luminary, whose acquaintance he had made through Mr. Low, and he had thought a great deal of the occasion. Mrs. Freemantle had sent him the invitation nearly a fortnight ago, and he understood there was to be an elaborate dinner party. He did not know it for a fact, but he was in hopes of meeting the expiring Lord Chancellor. He considered it to be his duty never to throw away such a chance. He would in all respects have preferred Mr. Freemantle’s dinner in Eaton Place, dull and heavy though it might probably be, to the chance of Lord Chiltern’s companions at Moroni’s. Whatever might be the faults of our hero, he was not given to what is generally called dissipation by the world at large,—by which the world means self-indulgence. He cared not a brass farthing for Moroni’s Château Yquem, nor for the wondrously studied repast which he would doubtless find prepared for him at that celebrated establishment in St. James’s Street;—not a farthing as compared with the chance of meeting so great a man as Lord Moles. And Lord Chiltern’s friends might probably be just the men whom he would not desire to know. But Lady Laura’s request overrode everything with him. She had asked him to oblige her, and of course he would do so. Had he been going to dine with the incoming Prime Minister, he would have put off his engagement at her request. He was not quick enough to make an answer without hesitation; but after a moment’s pause he said he should be most happy to dine with Lord Chiltern at Moroni’s.

      “That’s right; 7.30 sharp,—only I can tell you you won’t meet any other members.” Then the servant announced more visitors, and Lord Chiltern escaped out of the room before he was seen by the new comers. These were Mrs. Bonteen and Laurence Fitzgibbon, and then Mr. Bonteen,—and after them Mr. Ratler, the Whip, who was in a violent hurry, and did not stay there a moment, and then Barrington Erle and young Lord James FitzHoward, the youngest son of the Duke of St. Bungay. In twenty or thirty minutes there was a gathering of liberal political notabilities in Lady Laura’s drawing-room. There were two great pieces of news by which they were all enthralled. Mr. Mildmay would not be Prime Minister, and Sir Everard Powell was—dead. Of course nothing quite positive could be known about