the old doctor; “and as far as we are concerned, the windfall is the more pleasant as being wholly unexpected.”  In these days the doctor was undoubtedly gratified by his son’s success in life, and never said much about the law.  Phineas in truth did do some work during the autumn, reading blue-books, reading law books, reading perhaps a novel or two at the same time,—­but shutting himself up very carefully as he studied, so that his sisters were made to understand that for a certain four hours in the day not a sound was to be allowed to disturb him.

On the receipt of his legacy he at once offered to repay his father all money that had been advanced him over and above his original allowance; but this the doctor refused to take.  “It comes to the same thing, Phineas,” he said.  “What you have of your share now you can’t have hereafter.  As regards my present income, it has only made me work a little longer than I had intended; and I believe that the later in life a man works, the more likely he is to live.”  Phineas, therefore, when he returned to London, had his 3,000 in his pocket.  He owed some L500; and the remainder he would, of course, invest.

There had been some talk of an autumnal session, but Mr. Mildmay’s decision had at last been against it.  Who cannot understand that such would be the decision of any Minister to whom was left the slightest fraction of free will in the matter?  Why should any Minister court the danger of unnecessary attack, submit himself to unnecessary work, and incur the odium of summoning all his friends from their rest?  In the midst of the doubts as to the new and old Ministry, when the political needle was vacillating so tremulously on its pivot, pointing now to one set of men as the coming Government and then to another, vague suggestions as to an autumn session might be useful.  And they were thrown out in all good faith.  Mr. Mildmay, when he spoke on the subject to the Duke, was earnest in thinking that the question of Reform should not be postponed even for six months.  “Don’t pledge yourself,” said the Duke;—­and Mr. Mildmay did not pledge himself.  Afterwards, when Mr. Mildmay found that he was once more assuredly Prime Minister, he changed his mind, and felt himself to be under a fresh obligation to the Duke.  Lord de Terrier had altogether failed, and the country might very well wait till February.  The country did wait till February, somewhat to the disappointment of Phineas Finn, who had become tired of blue-books at Killaloe.  The difference between his English life and his life at home was so great, that it was hardly possible that he should not become weary of the latter.  He did become weary of it, but strove gallantly to hide his weariness from his father and mother.