There was not a word about Violet.  But then it was hardly to be expected that there should be words about Violet.  It was not likely that a man should write to his rival of his own failure.  But yet there was a flavour of Violet in the letter which would not have been there, so Phineas thought, if the writer had been despondent.  The pleasant little meeting on the sands had been convened altogether in respect of Violet.  And the telling of the story to the Earl must have arisen from discussions about Violet.  Lord Chiltern must have told his father that Phineas was his rival.  Could the rejected suitor have written on such a subject in such a strain to such a correspondent if he had believed his own rejection to be certain?  But then Lord Chiltern was not like anybody else in the world, and it was impossible to judge of him by one’s experience of the motives of others.

Shortly afterwards Phineas did call in Berkeley Square, and was shown up at once into Lady Baldock’s drawing-room.  The whole aspect of the porter’s countenance was changed towards him, and from this, too, he gathered good auguries This had surprised him; but his surprise was far greater, when, on entering the room, he found Violet Effingham there alone.  A little fresh colour came to her face as she greeted him, though it cannot be said that she blushed.  She behaved herself admirably, not endeavouring to conceal some little emotion at thus meeting him, but betraying none that was injurious to her composure.  “I am so glad to see you, Mr. Finn,” she said.  “My aunt has just left me, and will be back directly.”

He was by no means her equal in his management of himself on the occasion; but perhaps it may be acknowledged that his position was the more difficult of the two.  He had not seen her since her engagement had been proclaimed to the world, and now he had heard from a source which was not to be doubted, that it had been broken off.  Of course there was nothing to be said on that matter.  He could not have congratulated her in the one case, nor could he either congratulate her or condole with her on the other.  And yet he did not know how to speak to her as though no such events had occurred.  “I did not know that you were in town,” he said.

“I only came yesterday.  I have been, you know, at Rome with the Effinghams; and since that I have been—­; but, indeed, I have been such a vagrant that I cannot tell you of all my comings and goings.  And you,—­you are hard at work!”

“Oh yes;—­always.”

“That is right.  I wish I could be something, if it were only a stick in waiting, or a door-keeper.  It is so good to be something.”  Was it some such teaching as this that had jarred against Lord Chiltern’s susceptibilities, and had seemed to him to be a repetition of his father’s sermons?

“A man should try to be something,” said Phineas.

“And a woman must be content to be nothing,—­unless Mr. Mill can pull us through!  And now, tell me,—­have you seen Lady Laura?”