parted from her as a dear friend. I do not know why
there should have been a flavour of exquisite joy in the midst of his
agony as he thought of this;--but it was so. He would never kiss her
again. All future delights of that kind would belong to Mr. Kennedy,
and he had no real idea of interfering with that gentleman in the
fruition of his privileges. But still there was the kiss,--an
eternal fact. And then, in all respects except that of his love, his
visit to Loughlinter had been pre-eminently successful. Mr. Monk had
become his friend, and had encouraged him to speak during the next
session,--setting before him various models, and prescribing for him
a course of reading. Lord Brentford had become intimate with him. He
was on pleasant terms with Mr. Palliser and Mr. Gresham. And as for
Mr. Kennedy,--he and Mr. Kennedy were almost bosom friends. It seemed
to him that he had quite surpassed the Ratlers, Fitzgibbons, and
Bonteens in that politico-social success which goes so far towards
downright political success, and which in itself is so pleasant. He
had surpassed these men in spite of their offices and their acquired
positions, and could not but think that even Mr. Low, if he knew it
all, would confess that he had been right.

As to his bosom friendship with Mr. Kennedy, that of course troubled
him. Ought he not to be driving a poniard into Mr. Kennedy's heart?
The conventions of life forbade that; and therefore the bosom
friendship was to be excused. If not an enemy to the death, then
there could be no reason why he should not be a bosom friend.

He went over to Ireland, staying but one night with Mrs. Bunce, and
came down upon them at Killaloe like a god out of the heavens. Even
his father was well-nigh overwhelmed by admiration, and his mother
and sisters thought themselves only fit to minister to his pleasures.
He had learned, if he had learned nothing else, to look as though he
were master of the circumstances around him, and was entirely free
from internal embarrassment. When his father spoke to him about his
legal studies, he did not exactly laugh at his father's ignorance,
but he recapitulated to his father so much of Mr. Monk's wisdom at
second hand,--showing plainly that it was his business to study the
arts of speech and the technicalities of the House, and not to study
law,--that his father had nothing further to say. He had become a
man of such dimensions that an ordinary father could hardly dare to
in