do for Lady Laura,--were it
in his power to do anything. But no circumstance in his career had
been so unfortunate for him as this affection. A wretched charge had
been made against him which, though wholly untrue, was as it were
so strangely connected with the truth, that slanderers might not
improbably be able almost to substantiate their calumnies. She would
be in London soon, and he must devote himself to her service. But
every act of friendship that he might do for her would be used as
proof of the accusation that had been made against him. As he thought
of all this he was walking towards Park Lane in order that he might
call upon Madame Goesler according to his promise. As he went up to
the drawing-room he met old Mr. Maule coming down, and the two bowed
to each other on the stairs. In the drawing-room, sitting with Madame
Goesler, he found Mrs. Bonteen. Now Mrs. Bonteen was almost as odious
to him as was her husband.

"Did you ever know anything more shameful, Mr. Finn," said Mrs.
Bonteen, "than the attack made upon Mr. Bonteen the night before
last?" Phineas could see a smile on Madame Goesler's face as the
question was asked;--for she knew, and he knew that she knew, how
great was the antipathy between him and the Bonteens.

"The attack was upon Mr. Gresham, I thought," said Phineas.

"Oh, yes; nominally. But of course everybody knows what was meant.
Upon my word there is twice more jealousy among men than among women.
Is there not, Madame Goesler?"

"I don't think any man could be more jealous than I am myself," said
Madame Goesler.

"Then you're fit to be a member of a Government, that's all. I don't
suppose that there is a man in England has worked harder for his
party than Mr. Bonteen."

"I don't think there is," said Phineas.

"Or made himself more useful in Parliament. As for work, only that
his constitution is so strong, he would have killed himself."

"He should take Thorley's mixture,--twice a day," said Madame
Goesler.

"Take!--he never has time to take anything. He breakfasts in his
dressing-room, carries his lunch in his pocket, and dines with the
division bell ringing him up between his fish and his mutton chop.
Now he has got their decimal coinage in hand, and has not a moment to
himself, even on Sundays!"

"He'll be sure to go to Heaven for it,--that's one comfort."

"And because they are absolutely obliged to make him Chancellor of
the Exchequer,--just as if he had not earned it,