accompanied by the severest forbearance and the most
rigid propriety of conduct. No;—Lady
Laura had done wisely to check the growing feeling
of partiality which she had admitted; and now that
she was married, he would be as wise as she. It
was clear to him that, as regarded his own heart,
the way was open to him for a new enterprise.
But what if he were to fail again, and be told by Violet,
when he declared his love, that she had just engaged
herself to Lord Chiltern!
“What were you and Violet talking about so eagerly?”
said Lady Laura to him, with a smile that, in its
approach to laughter, almost betrayed its mistress.
“We were talking about your brother.”
“You are going to him, are you not?”
“Yes; I leave London on Sunday night;—but
only for a day or two.”
“Has he any chance there, do you think?”
“What, with Miss Effingham?”
“Yes;—with Violet. Sometimes
I think she loves him.”
“How can I say? In such a matter you can
judge better than I can do. One woman with reference
to another can draw the line between love and friendship.
She certainly likes Chiltern.”
“Oh, I believe she loves him. I do indeed.
But she fears him. She does not quite understand
how much there is of tenderness with that assumed
ferocity. And Oswald is so strange, so unwise,
so impolitic, that though he loves her better than
all the world beside, he will not sacrifice even a
turn of a word to win her. When he asks her to
marry him, he almost flies at her throat, as an angry
debtor who applies for instant payment. Tell
him, Mr. Finn, never to give it over;—and
teach him that he should be soft with her. Tell
him, also, that in her heart she likes him. One
woman, as you say, knows another woman; and I am certain
he would win her if he would only be gentle with her.”
Then, again, before they parted, Lady Laura told him
that this marriage was the dearest wish of her heart,
and that there would be no end to her gratitude if
Phineas could do anything to promote it. All
which again made our hero unhappy.
Sunday in Grosvenor Place
Mr. Kennedy, though he was a most scrupulously attentive
member of Parliament, was a man very punctual to hours
and rules in his own house,—and liked that
his wife should be as punctual as himself. Lady
Laura, who in marrying him had firmly resolved that
she would do her duty to him in all ways, even though
the ways might sometimes be painful,—and
had been perhaps more punctilious in this respect than
she might have been had she loved him heartily,—was
not perhaps quite so fond of accurate regularity as
her husband; and thus, by this time, certain habits
of his had become rather bonds than habits to her.
He always had prayers at nine, and breakfasted at a
quarter past nine, let the hours on the night before
have been as late as they might before the time for
