“I cannot acknowledge that I have done anything to be forgiven.”

“Say that,” repeated the Earl, “and everything shall be forgotten.”

“There need be no cause for alarm, my lord,” said Phineas.  “You may be sure that Miss Effingham will not think of me.”

“Will you give me your word?”

“No, my lord;—­certainly not.  You have no right to ask it, and the pursuit is open to me as to any other man who may choose to follow it.  I have hardly a vestige of a hope of success.  It is barely possible that I should succeed.  But if it be true that Miss Effingham be disengaged, I shall endeavour to find an opportunity of urging my suit.  I would give up everything that I have, my seat in Parliament, all the ambition of my life, for the barest chance of success.  When she had accepted your son, I desisted,—­of course.  I have now heard, from more sources than one, that she or he or both of them have changed their minds.  If this be so, I am free to try again.”  The Earl stood opposite to him, scowling at him, but said nothing.  “Good morning, my lord.”

“Good morning, sir.”

“I am afraid it must be good-bye, for some long days to come.”

“Good morning, sir,” And the Earl as he spoke rang the bell.  Then Phineas took up his hat and departed.

As he walked away his mind filled itself gradually with various ideas, all springing from the words which Lord Brentford had spoken.  What account had Lord Chiltern given to his father of the duel?  Our hero was a man very sensitive as to the good opinion of others, and in spite of his bold assertion of his own knowledge of what became a gentleman, was beyond measure solicitous that others should acknowledge his claim at any rate to that title.  He thought that he had been generous to Lord Chiltern; and as he went back in his memory over almost every word that had been spoken in the interview that had just passed, he fancied that he was able to collect evidence that his antagonist at Blankenberg had not spoken ill of him.  As to the charge of deceit which the Earl had made against him, he told himself that the Earl had made it in anger.  He would not even think hardly of the Earl who had been so good a friend to him, but he believed in his heart that the Earl had made the accusation out of his wrath and not out of his judgment.  “He cannot think that I have been false to him,” Phineas said to himself.  But it was very sad to him that he should have to quarrel with all the family of the Standishes, as he could not but feel that it was they who had put him on his feet.  It seemed as though he were never to see Lady Laura again except when they chanced to meet in company,—­on which occasions he simply bowed to her.  Now the Earl had almost turned him out of his house.  And though there had been to a certain extent a reconciliation between him and Lord Chiltern, he in these days never saw the friend who had once put him upon Bonebreaker; and now,—­now that Violet Effingham was again free,—­how was it possible to avoid some renewal of enmity between them?  He would, however, endeavour to see Lord Chiltern at once.