“I’m sure I hope you will.”
“But not till I’m forty or perhaps fifty
years old. If I was not fool enough to have what
men call a high ambition I might venture to be in
love now.”
“I’m sure I’m very glad that you’ve
got a high ambition. It is what every man ought
to have; and I’ve no doubt that we shall hear
of your marriage soon,—very soon.
And then,—if she can help you in your ambition,
we—shall—all—be so—glad.”
Phineas did not say a word further then. Perhaps
some commotion among the party broke up the little
private conversation in the corner. And he was
not alone with Mary again till there came a moment
for him to put her cloak over her shoulders in the
back parlour, while Mrs. Flood Jones was finishing
some important narrative to his mother. It was
Barbara, I think, who stood in some doorway, and prevented
people from passing, and so gave him the opportunity
which he abused.
“Mary,” said he, taking her in his arms,
without a single word of love-making beyond what the
reader has heard,—“one kiss before
we part.”
“No, Phineas, no!” But the kiss had been
taken and given before she had even answered him.
“Oh, Phineas, you shouldn’t!”
“I should. Why shouldn’t I?
And, Mary, I will have one morsel of your hair.”
“You shall not; indeed you shall not!”
But the scissors were at hand, and the ringlet was
cut and in his pocket before she was ready with her
resistance. There was nothing further;—not
a word more, and Mary went away with her veil down,
under her mother’s wing, weeping sweet silent
tears which no one saw.
“You do love her; don’t you, Phineas?”
asked Barbara.
“Bother! Do you go to bed, and don’t
trouble yourself about such trifles. But mind
you’re up, old girl, to see me off in the morning.”
Everybody was up to see him off in the morning, to
give him coffee and good advice, and kisses, and to
throw all manner of old shoes after him as he started
on his great expedition to Parliament. His father
gave him an extra twenty-pound note, and begged him
for God’s sake to be careful about his money.
His mother told him always to have an orange in his
pocket when he intended to speak longer than usual.
And Barbara in a last whisper begged him never to forget
dear Mary Flood Jones.
Phineas Finn Takes His Seat
Phineas had many serious, almost solemn thoughts on
his journey towards London. I am sorry I must
assure my female readers that very few of them had
reference to Mary Flood Jones. He had, however,
very carefully packed up the tress, and could bring
that out for proper acts of erotic worship at seasons
in which his mind might be less engaged with affairs
of state than it was at present. Would he make
a failure of this great matter which he had taken
in hand? He could not but tell himself that the
chances were twenty to one against him. Now that
