you. But there may not be even
words of affection between us--only such as I may speak to make you
know that I am your friend."

"You are my friend," he said, stretching out his hand to her as he
turned away his face. "You are my friend, indeed."

"Then do as I would have you do."

He put his hand into his pocket, and had the letter between his
fingers with the purport of showing it to her. But at the moment
the thought occurred to him that were he to do so, then, indeed, he
would be bound for ever. He knew that he was bound for ever,--bound
for ever to his own Mary; but he desired to have the privilege of
thinking over such bondage once more before he proclaimed it even to
his dearest friend. He had told her that she tempted him, and she
stood before him now as a temptress. But lest it might be possible
that she should not tempt in vain,--that letter in his pocket must
never be shown to her. In that case Lady Laura must never hear from
his lips the name of Mary Flood Jones.

He left her without any assured purpose;--without, that is, the
assurance to her of any fixed purpose. There yet wanted a week to the
day on which Mr. Monk's bill was to be read,--or not to be read,--the
second time; and he had still that interval before he need decide.
He went to his club, and before he dined he strove to write a line
to Mary;--but when he had the paper before him he found that it was
impossible to do so. Though he did not even suspect himself of an
intention to be false, the idea that was in his mind made the effort
too much for him. He put the paper away from him and went down and
eat his dinner.

It was a Saturday, and there was no House in the evening. He had
remained in Portman Square with Lady Laura till near seven o'clock,
and was engaged to go out in the evening to a gathering at Mrs.
Gresham's house. Everybody in London would be there, and Phineas
was resolved that as long as he remained in London he would be seen
at places where everybody was seen. He would certainly be at Mrs.
Gresham's gathering; but there was an hour or two before he need
go home to dress, and as he had nothing to do, he went down to the
smoking-room of his club. The seats were crowded, but there was
one vacant; and before he had looked about him to scrutinise his
neighbourhood, he found that he had placed himself with Bonteen on
his right hand and Ratler on his left. There were no two men in all
London whom he more thoroughly disliked; but it