he might almost as well have stayed away from the meeting,—­except that he had attended at Mr. Mildmay’s bidding, and had given a silent adhesion to Mr. Mildmay’s plan of reform for that session.  Laurence Fitzgibbon had been very nearly correct in his description of what would occur.  Mr. Mildmay made a long speech.  Mr. Turnbull, the great Radical of the day,—­the man who was supposed to represent what many called the Manchester school of politics,—­asked half a dozen questions.  In answer to these Mr. Gresham made a short speech.  Then Mr. Mildmay made another speech, and then all was over.  The gist of the whole thing was, that there should be a Reform Bill,—­very generous in its enlargement of the franchise,—­but no ballot.  Mr. Turnbull expressed his doubt whether this would be satisfactory to the country; but even Mr. Turnbull was soft in his tone and complaisant in his manner.  As there was no reporter present,—­that plan of turning private meetings at gentlemen’s houses into public assemblies not having been as yet adopted,—­there could be no need for energy or violence.  They went to Mr. Mildmay’s house to hear Mr. Mildmay’s plan,—­and they heard it.

Two days after this Phineas was to dine with Mr. Monk.  Mr. Monk had asked him in the lobby of the House.  “I don’t give dinner parties,” he said, “but I should like you to come and meet Mr. Turnbull.”  Phineas accepted the invitation as a matter of course.  There were many who said that Mr. Turnbull was the greatest man in the nation, and that the nation could be saved only by a direct obedience to Mr. Turnbull’s instructions.  Others said that Mr. Turnbull was a demagogue and at heart a rebel; that he was un-English, false and very dangerous.  Phineas was rather inclined to believe the latter statement; and as danger and dangerous men are always more attractive than safety and safe men, he was glad to have an opportunity of meeting Mr. Turnbull at dinner.

In the meantime he went to call on Lady Laura, whom he had not seen since the last evening which he spent in her company at Loughlinter,—­whom, when he was last speaking to her, he had kissed close beneath the falls of the Linter.  He found her at home, and with her was her husband.  “Here is a Darby and Joan meeting, is it not?” she said, getting up to welcome him.  He had seen Mr. Kennedy before, and had been standing close to him during the meeting at Mr. Mildmay’s.

“I am very glad to find you both together.”

“But Robert is going away this instant,” said Lady Laura.  “Has he told you of our adventures at Rome?”

“Not a word.”

“Then I must tell you;—­but not now.  The dear old Pope was so civil to us.  I came to think it quite a pity that he should be in trouble.”

“I must be off,” said the husband, getting up.  “But I shall meet you at dinner, I believe.”

“Do you dine at Mr. Monk’s?”

“Yes, and am asked expressly to hear Turnbull make a convert of you.  There are only to be us four.  Au revoir.”  Then Mr. Kennedy went, and Phineas found himself alone with Lady Laura.  He hardly knew how to address her, and remained silent.  He had not prepared himself for the interview as he ought to have done, and felt himself to be awkward.  She evidently expected him to speak, and for a few seconds sat waiting for what he might say.