After the holding of that Cabinet Council of which the author has dared to attempt a slight sketch in the last chapter, there were various visits made to the Queen, first by Mr Mildmay, and then by Lord de Terrier, afterwards by Mr Mildmay and the Duke together, and then again by Lord de Terrier; and there were various explanations made to Parliament in each House, and rivals were very courteous to each other, promising assistance — and at the end of it the old men held their seats. The only change made was effected by the retirement of Sir Marmaduke Morecombe, who was raised to the peerage, and by the selection of — Mr Kennedy to fill his place in the Cabinet. Mr Kennedy during the late debate had made one of those speeches, few and far between, by which he had created for himself a Parliamentary reputation; but, nevertheless, all men expressed their great surprise, and no one could quite understand why Mr Kennedy had been made a Cabinet Minister.
“It is impossible to say whether he is pleased or not,” said Lady Laura, speaking of him to Phineas. “I am pleased, of course.”
“His ambition must be gratified,” said Phineas.
“It would be, if he had any,” said Lady Laura.
“I do not believe in a man lacking ambition.”
“It is hard to say. There are men who by no means wear their hearts upon their sleeves, and my husband is one of them. He told me that it would be unbecoming in him to refuse, and that was all he said to me about it.”
The old men held their seats, but they did so as it were only upon further trial. Mr Mildmay took the course which he had indicated to his colleagues at the Cabinet meeting. Before all the explanations and journeyings were completed, April was over, and the much-needed Whitsuntide holidays were coming on. But little of the routine work of the session had been done; and, as Mr Mildmay told the House more than once, the country would suffer were the Queen to dissolve Parliament at this period of the year. The old Ministers would go on with the business of the country, Lord de Terrier with his followers having declined to take affairs into their hands; and at the close of the session, which should be made as short as possible, writs should be issued for new elections. This was Mr Mildmay’s programme, and it was one of which no one dared to complain very loudly.
Mr Turnbull, indeed, did speak a word of caution. He told Mr Mildmay that he had lost his bill, good in other respects, because he had refused to introduce the ballot into his measure. Let him promise to be wiser for the future, and to obey the manifested wishes of the country, and then all would be well with him. In answer to this, Mr Mildmay declared that to the best of his power of reading the country, his countrymen had manifested no such wish; and that if they did so, if by the fresh election it should be shown that the ballot was in truth desired, he would at once leave the execution of their wishes to abler and younger hands. Mr Turnbull expressed himself perfectly satisfied with the Minister’s answers, and said that the coming election would show whether he or Mr Mildmay were right.
Many men, and among them some of his colleagues, thought that Mr Mildmay had been imprudent. “No man ought ever to pledge himself to anything,” said Sir Harry Coldfoot to the Duke — “that is, to anything unnecessary.” The Duke, who was very true to Mr Mildmay, made no reply to this, but even he thought that his old friend had been betrayed into a promise too rapidly. But the pledge was given, and some people already began to make much of it. There appeared leader after leader in the People’s Banner urging the constituencies to take advantage of the Prime Minister’s words, and to show clearly at the hustings that they desired the ballot. “You had better come over to us, Mr Finn; you had indeed,” said Mr Slide. “Now’s the time to do it, and show yourself a people’s friend. You’ll have to do it sooner or later — whether or no. Come to us and we’ll be your horgan.”
But in those days Phineas was something less in love with Mr Quintus Slide than he had been at the time of the great debate, for he was becoming more and more closely connected with people who in their ways of living and modes of expression were very unlike Mr Slide. This advice was given to him about the end of May, and at that time Lord Chiltern was living with him in the lodgings in Great Marlborough Street. Miss Pouncefoot had temporarily vacated her rooms on the first floor, and the Lord with the broken bones had condescended to occupy them. “I don’t know that I like having a Lord,” Bunce had said to his wife. “It’ll soon come to you not liking anybody decent anywhere,” Mrs Bunce had replied; “but I shan’t ask any questions about it. When you’re wasting so much time and money at your dirty law proceedings, it’s well that somebody should earn something at home.”
There had been many discussions about the bringing of Lord Chiltern up to London, in all of which Phineas had been concerned. Lord Brentford had thought that his son had better remain down at the Willingford Bull; and although he said that the rooms were at his son’s disposal should Lord Chiltern choose to come to London, still he said it in such a way that Phineas, who went down to Willingford, could not tell his friend that he would be made welcome in Portman Square. “I think I shall leave those diggings altogether,” Lord Chiltern said to him. “My father annoys me by everything he says and does, and I annoy him by saying and doing nothing.” Then there came an invitation to him from Lady Laura and Mr Kennedy. Would he come to Grosvenor Place? Lady Laura pressed this very much, though in truth Mr Kennedy had hardly done more than give a cold assent. But Lord Chiltern would not hear of it. “There is some reason for my going to my father’s house,” said he, “though he and I are not the best friends in the world; but there can be no reason for my going to the house of a man I dislike so much as I do Robert Kennedy.” The matter was settled in the manner told above. Miss Pouncefoot’s rooms were prepared for him at Mr Bunce’s house, and Phineas Finn went down to Willingford and brought him up. “I’ve sold Bonebreaker”, he said, “to a young fellow whose neck will certainly be the sacrifice if he attempts to ride him. I’d have given him to you, Phineas, only you wouldn’t have known what to do with him.”
Lord Chiltern when he came up to London was still in bandages, though, as the surgeon said, his bones seemed to have been made to be broken and set again; and his bandages of course were a sufficient excuse for his visiting the house neither of his father nor his brother-in-law. But Lady Laura went to him frequently, and thus became acquainted with our hero’s home and with Mrs Bunce. And there were messages taken from Violet to the man in bandages, some of which lost nothing in the carrying. Once Lady Laura tried to make Violet think that it would be right, or rather not wrong, that they two should go together to Lord Chiltern’s rooms.
“And would you have me tell my aunt, or would you have me not tell her?” Violet asked.
“I would have you do just as you pleased,” Lady Laura answered.
“So I shall,” Violet replied, but I will do nothing that I should be ashamed to tell any one. Your brother professes to be in love with me.”
“He is in love with you,” said Lady Laura. Even you do not pretend to doubt his faith.”
“Very well. In those circumstances a girl should not go to a man’s rooms unless she means to consider herself as engaged to him, even with his sister — not though he had broken every bone in his skin. I know what I may do, Laura, and I know what I mayn’t; and I won’t be led either by you or by my aunt.”
“May I give him your love?”
“No — because you’ll give it in a wrong spirit. He knows well enough that I wish him well — but you may tell him that from me, if you please. He has from me all those wishes which one friend owes to another.”
But there were other messages sent from Violet through Phineas Finn which she worded with more show of affection — perhaps as much for the discomfort of Phineas as for the consolation of Lord Chiltern. “Tell him to take care of himself,” said Violet, and bid him not to have any more of those wild brutes that are not fit for any Christian to ride. Tell him that I say so. It’s a great thing to be brave; but what’s the use of being foolhardy?”
The session was to be closed at the end of June, to the great dismay of London tradesmen and of young ladies who had not been entirely successful in the early season. But before the old Parliament was closed, and the writs for the new election were despatched, there occurred an incident which was of very much importance to Phineas Finn. Near the end of June, when the remaining days of the session were numbered by three or four, he had been dining at ............