ngton in which he
tells me that Mr. Gresham is going to offer you your old
place at the Colonies. He says that Lord Fawn has been so
upset by this affair of Lady Eustace's husband, that he
is obliged to resign and go abroad. [This was the first
intimation that Phineas had heard of the nature of the
office to be offered to him.--] But Barrington goes on to
say that he thinks you won't accept Mr. Gresham's offer,
and he asks me to write to you. Can this possibly be true?
Barrington writes most kindly,--with true friendship,--and
is most anxious for you to join. But he thinks that you
are angry with Mr. Gresham because he passed you over
before, and that you will not forgive him for having
yielded to Mr. Bonteen. I can hardly believe this
possible. Surely you will not allow the shade of that
unfortunate man to blight your prospects? And, after all,
of what matter to you is the friendship or enmity of Mr.
Gresham? You have to assert yourself, to make your own
way, to use your own opportunities, and to fight your own
battle without reference to the feelings of individuals.
Men act together in office constantly, and with constancy,
who are known to hate each other. When there are so many
to get what is going, and so little to be given, of course
there will be struggling and trampling. I have no doubt
that Lord Cantrip has made a point of this with Mr.
Gresham;--has in point of fact insisted upon it. If so,
you are lucky to have such an ally as Lord Cantrip. He and
Mr. Gresham are, as you know, sworn friends, and if you
get on well with the one you certainly may with the other
also. Pray do not refuse without asking for time to think
about it;--and if so, pray come here, that you may consult
my father.

I spent two weary weeks at Loughlinter, and then could
stand it no longer. I have come here, and here I shall
remain for the autumn and winter. If I can sell my
interest in the Loughlinter property I shall do so, as I
am sure that neither the place nor the occupation is fit
for me. Indeed I know not what place or what occupation
will suit me! The dreariness of the life before me is
hardly preferable to the disappointments I have already
endured. There seems to be nothing left for me but to
watch my father to the end. The world would say that such
a duty in life is fit for a widowed childless daught