In those days he often wandered up and down the Linter and across the moor to the Linn, and so down to the lake.  He would take a book with him, and would seat himself down on spots which he loved, and would pretend to read;—­but I do not think that he got much advantage from his book.  He was thinking of his life, and trying to calculate whether the wonderful success which he had achieved would ever be of permanent value to him.  Would he be nearer to earning his bread when he should be member for Loughton than he had been when he was member for Loughshane?  Or was there before him any slightest probability that he would ever earn his bread?  And then he thought of Violet Effingham, and was angry with himself for remembering at that moment that Violet Effingham was the mistress of a large fortune.

Once before when he was sitting beside the Linter he had made up his mind to declare his passion to Lady Laura;—­and he had done so on the very spot.  Now, within a twelvemonth of that time, he made up his mind on the same spot to declare his passion to Miss Effingham, and he thought his best mode of carrying his suit would be to secure the assistance of Lady Laura.  Lady Laura, no doubt, had been very anxious that her brother should marry Violet; but Lord Chiltern, as Phineas knew, had asked for Violet’s hand twice in vain; and, moreover, Chiltern himself had declared to Phineas that he would never ask for it again.  Lady Laura, who was always reasonable, would surely perceive that there was no hope of success for her brother.  That Chiltern would quarrel with him,—­would quarrel with him to the knife,—­he did not doubt; but he felt that no fear of such a quarrel as that should deter him.  He loved Violet Effingham, and he must indeed be pusillanimous if, loving her as he did, he was deterred from expressing his love from any fear of a suitor whom she did not favour.  He would not willingly be untrue to his friendship for Lady Laura’s brother.  Had there been a chance for Lord Chiltern he would have abstained from putting himself forward.  But what was the use of his abstaining, when by doing so he could in no wise benefit his friend,—­when the result of his doing so would be that some interloper would come in and carry off the prize?  He would explain all this to Lady Laura, and, if the prize would be kind to him, he would disregard the anger of Lord Chiltern, even though it might be anger to the knife.

As he was thinking of all this Lady Laura stood before him where he was sitting at the top of the falls.  At this moment he remembered well all the circumstances of the scene when he had been there with her at his last visit to Loughlinter.  How things had changed since then!  Then he had loved Lady Laura with all his heart, and he had now already brought himself to regard her as a discreet matron whom to love would be almost as unreasonable as though he were to entertain a passion for the Lord Chancellor.  The reader will understand how thorough had been the cure effected by Lady Laura’s marriage and the interval of a few months, when the swain was already prepared to make this lady the depositary of his confidence in another matter of love.  “You are often here, I suppose?” said Lady Laura, looking down upon him as he sat upon the rock.