“He told you so?”

“Yes;—­he told me so.”

“And how did you answer him?”

“I had that very morning become engaged to Mr. Kennedy.  That was my answer.”

“And what did he say when you told him?”

“I do not know.  I cannot remember.  But he behaved very well.”

“And now,—­if he were to love me, you would grudge me his love?”

“Not for that reason,—­not if I know myself.  Oh no!  I would not be so selfish as that.”

“For what reason then?”

“Because I look upon it as written in heaven that you are to be Oswald’s wife.”

“Heaven’s writings then are false,” said Violet, getting up and walking away.

In the meantime Phineas was very wretched at home.  When he reached his lodgings after leaving the House,—­after his short conversation with Mr. Monk,—­he tried to comfort himself with what that gentleman had said to him.  For a while, while he was walking, there had been some comfort in Mr. Monk’s words.  Mr. Monk had much experience, and doubtless knew what he was saying,—­and there might yet be hope.  But all this hope faded away when Phineas was in his own rooms.  There came upon him, as he looked round them, an idea that he had no business to be in Parliament, that he was an impostor, that he was going about the world under false pretences, and that he would never set himself aright, even unto himself, till he had gone through some terrible act of humiliation.  He had been a cheat even to Mr. Quintus Slide of the Banner, in accepting an invitation to come among them.  He had been a cheat to Lady Laura, in that he had induced her to think that he was fit to live with her.  He was a cheat to Violet Effingham, in assuming that he was capable of making himself agreeable to her.  He was a cheat to Lord Chiltern when riding his horses, and pretending to be a proper associate for a man of fortune.  Why,—­what was his income?  What his birth?  What his proper position?  And now he had got the reward which all cheats deserve.  Then he went to bed, and as he lay there, he thought of Mary Flood Jones.  Had he plighted his troth to Mary, and then worked like a slave under Mr. Low’s auspices,—­he would not have been a cheat.

It seemed to him that he had hardly been asleep when the girl came into his room in the morning.  “Sir,” said she, “there’s that gentleman there.”

“What gentleman?”

“The old gentleman.”

Then Phineas knew that Mr. Clarkson was in his sitting-room, and that he would not leave it till he had seen the owner of the room.  Nay,—­Phineas was pretty sure that Mr. Clarkson would come into the bedroom, if he were kept long waiting.  “Damn the old gentleman,” said Phineas in his wrath;—­and the maid-servant heard him say so.