Before Phineas had returned to London his engagement with Mary Flood Jones was known to all his family, was known to Mrs Flood Jones, and was indeed known generally to all Killaloe. That other secret of his, which had reference to the probability of his being obliged to throw up his office, was known only to Mary herself. He thought that he had done all that honour required of him in telling her of his position before he had proposed — so that she might on that ground refuse him if she were so minded. And yet he had known very well that such prudence on her part was not to be expected. If she loved him, of course she would say so when she was asked. And he had known that she loved him. “There may be delay, Mary,” he said to her as he was going; “nay, there must be delay, if I am obliged to resign.”

“I do not care a straw for delay if you will be true to me,” she said.

“Do you doubt my truth, dearest?”

“Not in the least. I will swear by it as the one thing that is truest in the world.”

“You may, dearest. And if this should come to pass I must go to work and put my shoulder to the wheel, and earn an income for you by my old profession before I can make you my wife. With such a motive before me I know that I shall earn an income.” And thus they parted. Mary, though of course she would have preferred that her future husband should remain in his high office, that he should be a member of Parliament and an Under-Secretary of State, admitted no doubt into her mind to disturb her happiness; and Phineas, though he had many misgivings as to the prudence of what he had done, was not the less strong in his resolution of constancy and endurance. He would throw up his position, resign his seat, and go to work at the Bar instantly, if he found that his independence as a man required him to do so. And, above all, let come what might, he would be true to Mary Flood Jones. December was half over before he saw Lord Cantrip. “Yes — yes;” said Lord Cantrip, when the Under-Secretary began to tell his story; “I saw what you were about. I wish I had been at your elbow.”

“If you knew the country as I know it, you would be as eager about it as I am.”

“Then I can only say that I am very glad that I do not know the country as you know it. You see, Finn, it’s my idea that if a man wants to make himself useful he should stick to some special kind of work. With you it’s a thousand pities that you should not do so.”

“You think, then, I ought to resign?”

“I don’t say anything about that. As you wish it, of course I’ll speak to Gresham. Monk, I believe, has resigned already.”

“He has written to me, and told me so,” said Phineas.

“I always felt afraid of him for your sake, Finn. Mr Monk is a clever man, and as honest a man as any in the House, but I always thought that he was a dangerous friend for you. However, we will see. I will speak to Gresham after Christmas. There is no hurry about it.”

When Parliament met the first great subject of interest was the desertion of Mr Monk from the Ministry. He at once took his place below the gangway, sitting as it happened exactly in front of Mr Turnbull, and there he made his explanation. Someone opposite asked a question whether a certain right honourable gentleman had not left the Cabinet. Then Mr Gresham replied that to his infinite regret his right honourable friend who lately presided at the Board of Trade had resigned; and he went on to explain that this resignation had, according to his ideas, been quite unnecessary. His right honourable friend entertained certain ideas about Irish Tenant Right, as to which he himself and his right honourable friend the Secretary for Ireland could not exactly pledge themselves to be in unison with him; but he had thought that the motion might have rested at any rate over this session. Then Mr Monk explained, making his first great speech on Irish Tenant Right. He found himself obliged to advocate some immediate measure for giving security to the Irish farmer; and as he could not do so as a member of the Cabinet, he was forced to resign the honour of that position. He said something also as to the great doubt which had ever weighed on his own mind as to the inexpediency of a man at his time of life submitting himself for the first time to the trammels of office. This called up Mr Turnbull, who took the opportunity of saying that he now agreed cordially with his old friend for the first time since that old friend had listened to the blandishments of the ministerial seducer, and that he welcomed his old friend back to those independent benches with great satisfaction. In this way the debate was very exciting. Nothing was said which made it then necessary for Phineas to get upon his legs or to declare himself; but he perceived that the time would rapidly come in which he must do so. Mr Gresham, though he strove to speak with gentle words, was evidently very angry with the late President of the Board of Trade; and, moreover, it was quite clear that a bill would be introduced by Mr Monk himself, which Mr Gresham was determined to oppose. If all this came to pass and there should be a close division, Phineas felt that his fate would be sealed. When he again spoke to Lord Cantrip on the subject, the Secretary of State shrugged his shoulders and shook his head. “I can only advise you,” said Lord Cantrip, to forget all that took place in Ireland. If you will do so, nobody else will remember it.” “As if it were possible to forget such things,” he said in the letter which he wrote to Mary that night. “Of course I shall go now. If it were not for your sake, I should not in the least regret it.”

He had been with Madame Goesler frequently in the winter, and had discussed with her so often the question of his official position that she had declared that she was coming at last to understand the mysteries of an English Cabinet. “I think you are quite right, my friend,” she said — “quite right. What — you are to be in Parliament and say that this black thing is white, or that this white thing is black, because you like to take your salary! That cannot be honest!” Then, when he came to talk to her of money — that he must give up Parliament itself, if he gave up his place — she offered to lend him money. “Why should you not treat me as a friend?” she said. When he pointed out to her that there would never come a time in which he could pay such money back, she stamped her foot and told him that he had better leave her. “You have high principle,” she said, but not principle sufficiently high to understand that this thing could be done between you and me without disgrace to either of us.” Then Phineas assured her with tears in his eyes that such an arrangement was impossible without disgrace to him.

But he whispered to this new friend no word of the engagement with his dear Irish Mary. His Irish life, he would tell himself, was a thing quite apart and separate from his life in England. He said not a word about Mary Flood Jones to any of those with whom he lived in London. Why should he, feeling as he did that it would so soon be necessary that he should disappear from among them? About Miss Effingham he had said much to Madame Goesler. She had asked him whether he had abandoned all hope, “That affair, then, is over?” she had said.

“Yes — it is all over now.”

“And she will marry the red-headed, violent lord?”

“Heaven knows. I think she will. But she is exactly the girl to remain unmarried if she takes it into her head that the man she likes is in any way unfitted to her.”

“Does she love this lord?”

“Oh yes — there is no doubt of that.” And Phineas, as he made this acknowledgment, seemed to do so without much inward agony of soul. When he had been last in London he could not speak of Violet and Lord Chiltern together without showing that his misery was almost too much for him.

At this time he received some counsel from two friends. One was Laurence Fitzgibbon, and the other was Barrington Erle. Laurence had always been true to him after a fashion, and had never resented his intrusion at the Colonial Office. “Phineas, me boy,” he said, “if all this is true, you’re about up a tree.”

“It is true that I shall support Monk’s motion.”

“Then, me boy, you’re up a tree as far as office goes. A place like that niver suited me, because, you see, that poker of a young lord expected so much of a man but you don’t mind that kind of thing, and I thought you were as snug as snug.”

“Troubles will come, you see, Laurence.”

“Bedad, yes. It’s all throubles, I think, sometimes. But you’ve a way out of all your throubles.”

“What way?”

“Pop the question to Madame Max. The money’s all thrue, you know.”

“I don’t doubt the money in the least,” said Phineas.

“And it’s my belief she’ll take you without a second word. Anyways, thry it, Phinny, my boy. That’s my advice.” Phineas so far agreed with his friend Laurence that he thought it possible that Madame Goesler might accept him were he to propose marriage to her. He knew, of course, that that mode of escape from his difficulties was out of the question for him, but he could not explain this to Laurence Fitzgibbon.

“I am sorry to hear that you have taken up a bad cause,” s............