oured individual. Phineas retreated altogether
disgusted,--hating the Duke, but hating himself worse; but he would
not retreat in the direction of Madame Max Goesler. It might suit
that lady to take an instant little revenge for her discomfiture, but
it did not suit him to do so. The question with him would be, whether
in some future part of his career it might not be his duty to assist
in putting down Dukes of Omnium.

At dinner Phineas sat between Mrs. Bonteen and the Duchess of St.
Bungay, and did not find himself very happy. At the other end of the
table the Duke,--the great Duke, was seated at Lady Glencora's right
hand, and on his other side Fortune had placed Madame Max Goesler.
The greatest interest which Phineas had during the dinner was in
watching the operations,--the triumphantly successful operations of
that lady. Before dinner she had been wounded by the Duke. The Duke
had not condescended to accord the honour of his little bow of
graciousness to some little flattering morsel of wit which the lady
had uttered on his behoof. She had said a sharp word or two in her
momentary anger to Phineas; but when Fortune was so good to her in
that matter of her place at dinner, she was not fool enough to throw
away her chance. Throughout the soup and fish she was very quiet.
She said a word or two after her first glass of champagne. The Duke
refused two dishes, one after another, and then she glided into
conversation. By the time that he had his roast mutton before him she
was in full play, and as she eat her peach, the Duke was bending over
her with his most gracious smile.

"Didn't you think the session was very long, Mr. Finn?" said the
Duchess to Phineas.

"Very long indeed, Duchess," said Phineas, with his attention still
fixed on Madame Max Goesler.

"The Duke found it very troublesome."

"I daresay he did," said Phineas. That duke and that duchess were no
more than any other man and any other man's wife. The session had
not been longer to the Duke of St. Bungay than to all the public
servants. Phineas had the greatest possible respect for the Duke of
St. Bungay, but he could not take much interest in the wailings of
the Duchess on her husband's behalf.

"And things do seem to be so very uncomfortable now," said the
Duchess,--thinking partly of the resignation of Mr. Mildmay, and
partly of the fact that her own old peculiar maid who had lived with
her for thirty years had retired into private life.

"Not