. But it seemed that in this the Prime Minister
was allowing himself to be harassed by fears of the future. Mr. Monk
thought that any delay would be injurious and open to suspicion
after what had been said and done, and was urgent in his arguments.
The Duke gave way, but he did so almost sullenly, signifying his
acquiescence with haughty silence. "I am sorry," said Mr. Monk,
"to differ from your Grace, but my opinion in the matter is so
strong that I do not dare to abstain from expressing it." The Duke
bowed again and smiled. He had intended that the smile should be
acquiescent, but it had been as cold as steel. He knew that he was
misbehaving, but was not sufficiently master of his own manner to be
gracious. He told himself on the spot,--though he was quite wrong in
so telling himself,--that he had now made an enemy also of Mr. Monk,
and through Mr. Monk of Phineas Finn. And now he felt that he had no
friend left in whom to trust,--for the old Duke had become cold and
indifferent. The old Duke, he thought, was tired of his work and
anxious for rest. It was the old Duke who had brought him into this
hornets' nest; had fixed upon his back the unwilling load; had
compelled him to assume the place which now to lose would be a
disgrace,--and the old Duke was now deserting him! He was sore
all over, angry with every one, ungracious even with his private
Secretary and his wife,--and especially miserable because he was
thoroughly aware of his own faults. And yet, through it all, there
was present to him a desire to fight on to the very last. Let his
colleagues do what they might, and say what they might, he would
remain Prime Minister of England as long as he was supported by a
majority of the House of Commons.

"I do not know any greater step than this," Phineas said to him
pleasantly one day, speaking of their new measure, "towards that
millennium of which we were talking at Matching, if we can only
accomplish it."

"Those moral speculations, Mr. Finn," he said, "will hardly bear the
wear and tear of real life." The words of the answer, combined with
the manner in which they were spoken, were stern and almost uncivil.
Phineas, at any rate, had done nothing to offend him. The Duke
paused, trying to find some expression by which he might correct the
injury he had done; but, not finding any, passed on without further
speech. Phineas shrugged his shoulders and went his way, telling
himself that he had received one further inj