And now, early on the Sunday, he made his way to Portman Square in order that he might learn whether there might be any sympathy for him there.  Hitherto he had found none.  Everything had been terribly dry and hard, and he had gathered as yet none of the fruit which he had expected that his good fortune would bear for him.  It is true that he had not as yet gone among any friends, except those of his club, and men who were in the House along with him;—­and at the club it might be that there were some who envied him his good fortune, and others who thought nothing of it because it had been theirs for years.  Now he would try a friend who, he hoped, could sympathise; and therefore he called in Portman Square at about half-past two on the Sunday morning.  Yes,—­Lady Laura was in the drawing-room.  The hall-porter admitted as much, but evidently seemed to think that he had been disturbed from his dinner before his time.  Phineas did not care a straw for the hall-porter.  If Lady Laura were not kind to him, he would never trouble that hall-porter again.  He was especially sore at this moment because a valued friend, the barrister with whom he had been reading for the last three years, had spent the best part of an hour that Sunday morning in proving to him that he had as good as ruined himself.  “When I first heard it, of course I thought you had inherited a fortune,” said Mr. Low.  “I have inherited nothing,” Phineas replied;—­“not a penny; and I never shall.”  Then Mr. Low had opened his eyes very wide, and shaken his head very sadly, and had whistled.

“I am so glad you have come, Mr. Finn,” said Lady Laura, meeting Phineas half-way across the large room.

“Thanks,” said he, as he took her hand.

“I thought that perhaps you would manage to see me before any one else was here.”

“Well;—­to tell the truth, I have wished it; though I can hardly tell why.”

“I can tell you why, Mr. Finn.  But never mind;—­come and sit down.  I am so very glad that you have been successful;—­so very glad.  You know I told you that I should never think much of you if you did not at least try it.”

“And therefore I did try.”

“And have succeeded.  Faint heart, you know, never did any good.  I think it is a man’s duty to make his way into the House;—­that is, if he ever means to be anybody.  Of course it is not every man who can get there by the time that he is five-and-twenty.”

“Every friend that I have in the world says that I have ruined myself.”

“No;—­I don’t say so,” said Lady Laura.

“And you are worth all the others put together.  It is such a comfort to have some one to say a cheery word to one.”

“You shall hear nothing but cheery words here.  Papa shall say cheery words to you that shall be better than mine, because they shall be weighted with the wisdom of age.  I have heard him say twenty times that the earlier a man goes into the House the better.  There is much to learn.”