was very bad. He did not know how to get up and
go away, or how to keep his place. For some time he sat with his
hat off, forgetful of his privilege of wearing it; and then put it
on hurriedly, as though the fact of his not wearing it must have
been observed by everybody. At last, at about two, the debate was
adjourned, and then as he was slowly leaving the House, thinking how
he might creep away without companionship, Mr. Monk took him by the
arm.

"Are you going to walk?" said Mr. Monk.

"Yes", said Phineas; "I shall walk."

"Then we may go together as far as Pall Mall. Come along." Phineas
had no means of escape, and left the House hanging on Mr. Monk's arm,
without a word. Nor did Mr. Monk speak till they were out in Palace
Yard. "It was not much amiss," said Mr. Monk; "but you'll do better
than that yet."

"Mr. Monk," said Phineas, "I have made an ass of myself so
thoroughly, that there will at any rate be this good result, that I
shall never make an ass of myself again after the same fashion."

"Ah!--I thought you had some such feeling as that, and therefore I
was determined to speak to you. You may be sure, Finn, that I do not
care to flatter you, and I think you ought to know that, as far as I
am able, I will tell you the truth. Your speech, which was certainly
nothing great, was about on a par with other maiden speeches in the
House of Commons. You have done yourself neither good nor harm. Nor
was it desirable that you should. My advice to you now is, never to
avoid speaking on any subject that interests you, but never to speak
for above three minutes till you find yourself as much at home on
your legs as you are when sitting. But do not suppose that you have
made an ass of yourself,--that is, in any special degree. Now,
good-night."

CHAPTER XXVII

Phineas Discussed

Lady Laura Kennedy heard two accounts of her friend's speech,--and
both from men who had been present. Her husband was in his place, in
accordance with his constant practice, and Lord Brentford had been
seated, perhaps unfortunately, in the peers' gallery.

"And you think it was a failure?" Lady Laura said to her husband.

"It certainly was not a success. There was nothing particular about
it. There was a good deal of it you could hardly hear."

After that she got the morning newspapers, and turned with great
interest to the report. Phineas Finn had been, as it were, adopted by
her as her own political offspring,--or at any