“Whatever I think, I’m sure he doesn’t.”

“I’m not so sure of that.  But look here, Phineas, I don’t care two straws about Monk’s going.  I always thought that Mildmay and the Duke were wrong when they asked him to join.  I knew he’d go over the traces,—­unless, indeed, he took his money and did nothing for it, which is the way with some of those Radicals.  I look upon him as gone.”

“He has gone.”

“The devil go along with him, as you say in Ireland.  But don’t you be such a fool as to ruin yourself for a crotchet of Monk’s.  It isn’t too late yet for you to hold back.  To tell you the truth, Gresham has said a word to me about it already.  He is most anxious that you should stay, but of course you can’t stay and vote against us.”

“Of course I cannot.”

“I look upon you, you know, as in some sort my own child.  I’ve tried to bring other fellows forward who seemed to have something in them, but I have never succeeded as I have with you.  You’ve hit the thing off, and have got the ball at your foot.  Upon my honour, in the whole course of my experience I have never known such good fortune as yours.”

“And I shall always remember how it began, Barrington,” said Phineas, who was greatly moved by the energy and solicitude of his friend.

“But, for God’s sake, don’t go and destroy it all by such mad perversity as this.  They mean to do something next session.  Morrison is going to take it up.”  Sir Walter Morrison was at this time Secretary for Ireland.  “But of course we can’t let a fellow like Monk take the matter into his own hands just when he pleases.  I call it d——­d treachery.”

“Monk is no traitor, Barrington.”

“Men will have their own opinions about that.  It’s generally understood that when a man is asked to take a seat in the Cabinet he is expected to conform with his colleagues, unless something very special turns up.  But I am speaking of you now, and not of Monk.  You are not a man of fortune.  You cannot afford to make ducks and drakes.  You are excellently placed, and you have plenty of time to hark back, if you’ll only listen to reason.  All that Irish stump balderdash will never be thrown in your teeth by us, if you will just go on as though it had never been uttered.”

Phineas could only thank his friend for his advice, which was at least disinterested, and was good of its kind, and tell him that he would think of it.  He did think of it very much.  He almost thought that, were it to do again, he would allow Mr. Monk to go upon his tour alone, and keep himself from the utterance of anything that so good a judge as Erle could call stump balderdash.  As he sat in his arm-chair in his room at the Colonial Office, with despatch-boxes around him, and official papers spread before him,—­feeling himself to be one of those who in truth managed and governed the affairs of this great nation, feeling also that if he relinquished his post now he could never regain it,—­he