The note from Lord Brentford surprised our hero not a little. He had had no communication with the Earl since the day on which he had been so savagely scolded about the duel, when the Earl had plainly told him that his conduct had been as bad as it could be. Phineas had not on that account become at all ashamed of his conduct in reference to the duel, but he had conceived that any reconciliation between him and the Earl had been out of the question. Now there had come a civilly-worded invitation, asking him to dine with the offended nobleman. The note had been written by Lady Laura, but it had purported to come from Lord Brentford himself. He sent back word to say that he should be happy to have the honour of dining with Lord Brentford.

Parliament at this time had been sitting nearly a month, and it was already March. Phineas had heard nothing of Lady Laura, and did not even know that she was in London till he saw her handwriting. He did not know that she had not gone back to her husband, and that she had remained with her father all the winter at Saulsby. He had also heard that Lord Chiltern had been at Saulsby. All the world had been talking of the separation of Mr Kennedy from his wife, one half of the world declaring that his wife, if not absolutely false to him, had neglected all her duties; and the other half asserting that Mr Kennedy’s treatment of his wife had been so bad that no woman could possibly have lived with him. There had even been a rumour that Lady Laura had gone off with a lover from the Duke of Omnium’s garden party, and some indiscreet tongue had hinted that a certain unmarried Under-Secretary of State was missing at the same time. But Lord Chiltern upon this had shown his teeth with so strong a propensity to do some real biting that no one had ventured to repeat that rumour. Its untruth was soon established by the fact that Lady Laura Kennedy was living with her father at Saulsby. Of Mr Kennedy, Phineas had as yet seen nothing since he had been up in town. That gentleman, though a member of the Cabinet, had not been in London at the opening of the session, nor had he attended the Cabinet meetings during the recess. It had been stated in the newspapers that he was ill, and stated in private that he could not bear to show himself since his wife had left him. At last, however, he came to London, and Phineas saw him in the House. Then, when the first meeting of the Cabinet was summoned after his return, it became known that he also had resigned his office. There was nothing said about his resignation in the House. He had resigned on the score of ill-health, and that very worthy peer, Lord Mount Thistle, formerly Sir Marmaduke Morecombe, came back to the Duchy of Lancaster in his place. A Prime Minister sometimes finds great relief in the possession of a serviceable stick who can be made to go in and out as occasion may require; only it generally happens that the stick will expect some reward when he is made to go out. Lord Mount Thistle immediately saw his way to a viscount’s coronet, when he was once more summoned to the august councils of the Ministers.

A few days after this had been arranged, in the interval between Lord Brentford’s invitation and Lord Brentford’s dinner, Phineas encountered Mr Kennedy so closely in one of the passages of the House that it was impossible that they should not speak to each other, unless they were to avoid each other as people do who have palpably quarrelled. Phineas saw that Mr Kennedy was hesitating, and therefore took the bull by the horns. He greeted his former friend in a friendly fashion, shaking him by the hand, and then prepared to pass on. But Mr Kennedy, though he had hesitated at first, now detained his brother member. “Finn,” he said, if you are not engaged I should like to speak to you for a moment.” Phineas was not engaged, and allowed himself to be led out arm-in-arm by the late Chancellor of the Duchy into Westminster Hall. “Of course you know what a terrible thing has happened to me,” said Mr Kennedy.

“Yes — I have heard of it,” said Phineas.

“Everybody has heard of it. That is one of the terrible cruelties of such a blow.”

“All those things are very bad of course. I was very much grieved — because you have both been intimate friends of mine.”

“Yes — yes; we were. Do you ever see her now?”

“Not since last July — at the Duke’s party, you know.”

“Ah, yes; the morning of that day was the last on which I spoke to her. It was then she left me.”

“I am going to dine with Lord Brentford tomorrow, and I dare say she will be there.”

“Yes — she is in town. I saw her yesterday in her father’s carriage. I think that she had no cause to leave me.”

“Of course I cannot say anything about that.”

“I think she had no cause to leave me.” Phineas as he heard this could not but remember all that Lady Laura had told himself, and thought that no woman had ever had a better reason for leaving her husband. “There were things I did not like, and I said so.”

“I suppose that is generally the way,” replied Phineas.

“But surely a wife should listen to a word of caution from her husband.”

“I fancy they never like it,” said Phineas.

“But are we all of us to have all that we like? I have not found it so. Or would it be good for us if we had?” Then he paused; but as Phineas had no further remark to make, he continued speaking after they had walked about a third of the length of the hall. “It is not of my own comfort I am thinking now so much as of her name and her future conduct. Of course it will in every sense be best for her that she should come back to her husband’s roof.”

“Well; yes — perhaps it would,” said Phineas.

“Has she not accepted that lot for better or for worse?” said Mr Kennedy, solemnly.

“But incompatibility of temper, you know, is always — always supposed — You understand me?”

“It is my intention that she should come back to me. I do not wish to make any legal demand — at any rate, not as yet. Will you consent to be the bearer of a message from me both to herself and to the Earl?”

Now it seemed to Phineas that of all the messengers whom Mr Kennedy could have chosen he was the most unsuited to be a Mercury in this cause — not perceiving that he had been so selected with some craft, in order that Lady Laura might understand that the accusation against her was, at any rate, withdrawn, which had named Phineas as her lover. He paused again before he answered. “Of course,” he said, “I should be most willing to be of service, if it were possible. But I do not see how I can speak to the Earl about it. Though I am going to dine with him I don’t know why he has asked me — for he and I are on very bad terms. He heard that stupid story about the duel, and has not spoken to me since.”

“I heard that, too,” said Mr Kennedy, frowning blackly as he remembered his wife’s duplicity.

“Everybody heard of it. But it has made such a difference between him and me, that I don’t think I can meddle. Send for Lord Chiltern, and speak to him.”

“Speak to Chiltern! Never! He would probably strike me on the head with his club.”

“Call on the Earl yourself.”

“I did, and he would not see me.”

“Write to him.”

“I did, and he sent back my letter unopened.”

“Write to her.”

“I did — and she answered me, saying only thus; “Indeed, indeed, it cannot be so.” But it must be so. The laws of God require it, and the laws of man permit it. I want someone to point out that to them more softly than I could do if I were simply to write to that effect. To the Earl, of course, I cannot write again.” The conference ended by a promise from Phineas that he would, if possible, say a word to Lady Laura.

When he was shown into Lord Brentford’s drawing-room he found not only Lady Laura there, but her brother. Lord Brentford was not in the room. Barrington Erle was there, and so also were Lord and Lady Cantrip.

“Is not your father going to be here?” he said to Lady Laura, after their first greeting.

“We live in that hope,” said she, and do not at all know why he should be late. What has become of him, Oswald?”

“He came in with me half an hour ago, and I suppose he does not dress as quickly as I do,” said Lord Chiltern; upon which Phineas immediately understood that the father and the son were reconciled, and he rushed to the conclusion that Violet and her lover would also soon be reconciled, if such were not already the case. He felt some remnant of a soreness that it should be so, as a man feels where his headache has been when the real ache itself has left him. Then the host came in and made his apologies. “Chiltern kept me standing about”, he said, “till the east wind had chil............