“He is in,” said Lady Laura, opening a telegram.

“Who is in?” said Mr. Kennedy, with that frown on his brow to which his wife was now well accustomed.  Though he asked the question, he knew very well who was the hero to whom the telegram referred.

“Our friend Phineas Finn,” said Lady Laura, speaking still with an excited voice,—­with a voice that was intended to display excitement.  If there was to be a battle on this matter, there should be a battle.  She would display all her anxiety for her young friend, and fling it in her husband’s face if he chose to take it as an injury.  What,—­should she endure reproach from her husband because she regarded the interests of the man who had saved his life, of the man respecting whom she had suffered so many heart-struggles, and as to whom she had at last come to the conclusion that he should ever be regarded as a second brother, loved equally with the elder brother?  She had done her duty by her husband,—­so at least she had assured herself;—­and should he dare to reproach her on this subject, she would be ready for the battle.  And now the battle came.  “I am glad of this,” she said, with all the eagerness she could throw into her voice.  “I am, indeed,—­and so ought you to be.”  The husband’s brow grew blacker and blacker, but still he said nothing.  He had long been too proud to be jealous, and was now too proud to express his jealousy,—­if only he could keep the expression back.  But his wife would not leave the subject.  “I am so thankful for this,” she said, pressing the telegram between her hands.  “I was so afraid he would fail!”

“You over-do your anxiety on such a subject,” at last he said, speaking very slowly.

“What do you mean, Robert?  How can I be over-anxious?  If it concerned any other dear friend that I have in the world, it would not be an affair of life and death.  To him it is almost so.  I would have walked from here to London to get him his election.”  And as she spoke she held up the clenched fist of her left hand, and shook it, while she still held the telegram in her right hand.

“Laura, I must tell you that it is improper that you should speak of any man in those terms;—­of any man that is a stranger to your blood.”

“A stranger to my blood!  What has that to do with it?  This man is my friend, is your friend;—­saved your life, has been my brother’s best friend, is loved by my father,—­and is loved by me, very dearly.  Tell me what you mean by improper!”

“I will not have you love any man,—­very dearly.”

“Robert!”

“I tell you that I will have no such expressions from you.  They are unseemly, and are used only to provoke me.”

“Am I to understand that I am insulted by an accusation?  If so, let me beg at once that I may be allowed to go to Saulsby.  I would rather accept your apology and retractation there than here.”

“You will not go to Saulsby, and there has been no accusation, and there will be no apology.  If you please there will be no more mention of Mr. Finn’s name between us, for the present.  If you will take my advice you will cease to think of him extravagantly;—­and I must desire you to hold no further direct communication with him.”