The session went on very calmly after the opening battle which ousted Lord de Terrier and sent Mr Mildmay back to the Treasury — so calmly that Phineas Finn was unconsciously disappointed, as lacking that excitement of contest to which he had been introduced in the first days of his parliamentary career. From time to time certain waspish attacks were made by Mr Daubeny, now on this Secretary of State and now on that; but they were felt by both parties to mean nothing; and as no great measure was brought forward, nothing which would serve by the magnitude of its interests to divide the liberal side of the House into fractions, Mr Mildmay’s Cabinet was allowed to hold its own in comparative peace and quiet. It was now July — the middle of July — and the member for Loughshane had not yet addressed the House. How often had he meditated doing so; how he had composed his speeches walking round the Park on his way down to the House; how he got his subjects up — only to find on hearing them discussed that he really knew little or nothing about them; how he had his arguments and almost his very words taken out of his mouth by some other member; and lastly, how he had actually been deterred from getting upon his legs by a certain tremor of blood round his heart when the moment for rising had come — of all this he never said a word to any man. Since that last journey to county Mayo, Laurence Fitzgibbon had been his most intimate friend, but he said nothing of all this even to Laurence Fitzgibbon. To his other friend, Lady Laura Standish, he did explain something of his feelings, not absolutely describing to her the extent of hindrance to which his modesty had subjected him, but letting her know that he had his qualms as well as his aspirations. But as Lady Laura always recommended patience, and more than once expressed her opinion that a young member would be better to sit in silence at least for one session, he was not driven to the mortification of feeling that he was incurring her contempt by his bashfulness. As regarded the men among whom he lived, I think he was almost annoyed at finding that no one seemed to expect that he should speak. Barrington Erle, when he had first talked of sending Phineas down to Loughshane, had predicted for him all manner of parliamentary successes, and had expressed the warmest admiration of the manner in which Phineas had discussed this or that subject at the union. “We have not above one or two men in the House who can do that kind of thing,” Barrington Erle had once said. But now no allusions whatever were made to his powers of speech, and Phineas in his modest moments began to be more amazed than ever that he should find himself seated in that chamber.

To the forms and technicalities of parliamentary business he did give close attention, and was unremitting in his attendance. On one or two occasions he ventured to ask a question of the Speaker, and as the words of experience fell into his ears, he would tell himself that he was going through his education — that he was learning to be a working member, and perhaps to be a statesman. But his regrets with reference to Mr Low and the dingy chambers in Old Square were very frequent; and had it been possible for him to undo all that he had done, he would often have abandoned to someone else the honour of representing the electors of Loughshane.

But he was supported in all his difficulties by the kindness of his friend, Lady Laura Standish. He was often in the house in Portman Square, and was always received with cordiality, and, as he thought, almost with affection. She would sit and talk to him, sometimes saying a word about her brother and sometimes about her father, as though there were more between them than the casual intimacy of London acquaintance. And in Portman Square he had been introduced to Miss Effingham, and had found Miss Effingham to be — very nice. Miss Effingham had quite taken to him, and he had danced with her at two or three parties, talking always, as he did so, about Lady Laura Standish.

“I declare, Laura, I think your friend Mr Finn is in love with you,” said Violet to Lady Laura one night.

“I don’t think that. He is fond of me, and so am I of him. He is so honest, and so naive without being awkward! And then he is undoubtedly clever.”

“And so uncommonly handsome,” said Violet.

“I don’t know that that makes much difference,” said Lady Laura.

“I think it does if a man looks like a gentleman as well.”

“Mr Finn certainly looks like a gentleman,” said Lady Laura.

“And no doubt is one,” said Violet, I wonder whether he has got any money.”

“Not a penny, I should say.”

“How does such a man manage to live? There are so many men like that, and they are always mysteries to me. I suppose he’ll have to marry an heiress.”

“Whoever gets him will not have a bad husband,” said Lady Laura Standish.

Phineas during the summer had very often met Mr Kennedy. They sat on the same side of the House, they belonged to the same club, they dined together more than once in Portman Square, and on one occasion Phineas had accepted an invitation to dinner sent to him by Mr Kennedy himself. “A slower affair I never saw in my life,” he said afterwards to Laurence Fitzgibbon. “Though there were two or three men there who talk everywhere else, they could not talk at his table.” “He gave you good wine, I should say, said Fitzgibbon, “and let me tell you that that covers a multitude of sins.” In spite, however, of all these opportunities for intimacy, now, nearly at the end of the session, Phineas had hardly spoken a dozen words to Mr Kennedy, and really knew nothing whatsoever of the man, as one friend — or even as one acquaintance knows another. Lady Laura had desired him to be on good terms with Mr Kennedy, and for that reason he had dined with him. Nevertheless he disliked Mr Kennedy, and felt quite sure that Mr Kennedy disliked him. He was therefore rather surprised when he received the following note:

“ Albany,............