“I do not know what to think of it, Mr. Finn.  I am so much surprised that I hardly know what to say.  I must declare my opinion at once, that you behaved,—­very badly.”

“I do not know how much you know, my lord, and how much you do not know; and the circumstances of the little affair do not permit me to be explicit about them; but, as you have expressed your opinion so openly you must allow me to express mine, and to say that, as far as I can judge of my own actions, I did not behave badly at all.”

“Do you intend to defend duelling, sir?”

“No.  If you mean to tell me that a duel is of itself sinful, I have nothing to say.  I suppose it is.  My defence of myself merely goes to the manner in which this duel was fought, and the fact that I fought it with your son.”

“I cannot conceive how you can have come to my house as my guest, and stood upon my interest for my borough, when you at the time were doing your very best to interpose yourself between Chiltern and the lady whom you so well knew I wished to become his wife.”  Phineas was aware that the Earl must have been very much moved indeed when he thus permitted himself to speak of “his” borough.  He said nothing now, however, though the Earl paused;—­and then the angry lord went on.  “I must say that there was something,—­something almost approaching to duplicity in such conduct.”

“If I were to defend myself by evidence, Lord Brentford, I should have to go back to exact dates,—­and dates not of facts which I could verify, but dates as to my feelings which could not be verified,—­and that would be useless.  I can only say that I believe I know what the honour and truth of a gentleman demand,—­even to the verge of self-sacrifice, and that I have done nothing that ought to place my character as a gentleman in jeopardy.  If you will ask your son, I think he will tell you the same.”

“I have asked him.  It was he who told me of the duel.”

“When did he tell you, my lord?”

“Just now; this morning.”  Thus Phineas learned that Lord Chiltern was at this moment in the house,—­or at least in London.

“And did he complain of my conduct?”

“I complain of it, sir.  I complain of it very bitterly.  I placed the greatest confidence in you, especially in regard to my son’s affairs, and you deceived me.”  The Earl was very angry, and was more angry from the fact that this young man who had offended him, to whom he had given such vital assistance when assistance was needed, had used that assistance to its utmost before his sin was found out.  Had Phineas still been sitting for Loughton, so that the Earl could have said to him, “You are now bound to retreat from this borough because you have offended me, your patron,” I think that he would have forgiven the offender and allowed him to remain in his seat.  There would have been a scene, and the Earl would have been pacified.  But now the offender was beyond his reach altogether,