traceries of silk, were fitted close to her arms; and round her neck she wore the smallest possible collar of lace, above which there was a short chain of Roman gold with a ruby pendant.  And she had rubies in her ears, and a ruby brooch, and rubies in the bracelets on her arms.  Such, as regarded the outward woman, was Madame Max Goesler; and Phineas, as he took his place by her side, thought that fortune for the nonce had done well with him,—­only that he should have liked it so much better could he have been seated next to Violet Effingham!

I have said that in the matter of conversation his morsel of seed was not thrown into barren ground.  I do not know that he can truly be said to have produced even a morsel.  The subjects were all mooted by the lady, and so great was her fertility in discoursing that all conversational grasses seemed to grow with her spontaneously.  “Mr. Finn,” she said, “what would I not give to be a member of the British Parliament at such a moment as this!”

“Why at such a moment as this particularly?”

“Because there is something to be done, which, let me tell you, senator though you are, is not always the case with you.”

“My experience is short, but it sometimes seems to me that there is too much to be done.”

“Too much of nothingness, Mr. Finn.  Is not that the case?  But now there is a real fight in the lists.  The one great drawback to the life of women is that they cannot act in politics.”

“And which side would you take?”

“What, here in England?” said Madame Max Goesler,—­from which expression, and from one or two others of a similar nature, Phineas was led into a doubt whether the lady were a countrywoman of his or not.  “Indeed, it is hard to say.  Politically I should want to out-Turnbull Mr. Turnbull, to vote for everything that could be voted for,—­ballot, manhood suffrage, womanhood suffrage, unlimited right of striking, tenant right, education of everybody, annual parliaments, and the abolition of at least the bench of bishops.”

“That is a strong programme,” said Phineas.

“It is strong, Mr. Finn, but that’s what I should like.  I think, however, that I should be tempted to feel a dastard security in the conviction that I might advocate my views without any danger of seeing them carried out.  For, to tell you the truth, I don’t at all want to put down ladies and gentlemen.”

“You think that they would go with the bench of bishops?”

“I don’t want anything to go,—­that is, as far as real life is concerned.  There’s that dear good Bishop of Abingdon is the best friend I have in the world,—­and as for the Bishop of Dorchester, I’d walk from here to there to hear him preach.  And I’d sooner hem aprons for them all myself than that they should want those pretty decorations.  But then, Mr. Finn, there is such a difference between life and theory;—­is there not?”

“And it is so comfortable to have theories that one is not bound to carry out,” said Phineas.