s work,--at the period of
his first return for Loughshane,--he had had no thought of mending
his deficiency in this respect by a rich marriage. Nor had it ever
occurred to him that he would seek a marriage for that purpose. Such
an idea would have been thoroughly distasteful to him. There had been
no stain of premeditated mercenary arrangement upon him at any time.
But circumstances had so fallen out with him, that as he won his
spurs in Parliament, as he became known, and was placed first in one
office and then in another, prospects of love and money together were
opened to him, and he ventured on, leaving Mr. Low and the law behind
him,--because these prospects were so alluring. Then had come Mr.
Monk and Mary Flood Jones,--and everything around him had collapsed.

Everything around him had collapsed,--with, however, a terrible
temptation to him to inflate his sails again, at the cost of his
truth and his honour. The temptation would have affected him
not at all, had Madame Goesler been ugly, stupid, or personally
disagreeable. But she was, he thought, the most beautiful woman
he had ever seen, the most witty, and in many respects the most
charming. She had offered to give him everything that she had, so to
place him in the world that opposition would be more pleasant to him
than office, to supply every want, and had done so in a manner that
had gratified all his vanity. But he had refused it all, because he
was bound to the girl at Floodborough. My readers will probably say
that he was not a true man unless he could do this without a regret.
When Phineas thought of it all, there were many regrets.

But there was at the same time a resolve on his part, that if any man
had ever loved the girl he promised to love, he would love Mary Flood
Jones. A thousand times he had told himself that she had not the
spirit of Lady Laura, or the bright wit of Violet Effingham, or the
beauty of Madame Goesler. But Mary had charms of her own that were
more valuable than them all. Was there one among the three who had
trusted him as she trusted him,--or loved him with the same satisfied
devotion? There were regrets, regrets that were heavy on his
heart;--for London, and Parliament, and the clubs, and Downing
Street, had become dear to him. He liked to think of himself as he
rode in the park, and was greeted by all those whose greeting was
the most worth having. There were regrets,--sad regrets. But the
girl whom he loved better than th