But Phineas cared very little what Miss Fitzgibbon said to him.  Everybody knew Aspasia Fitzgibbon, and all who knew her were accustomed to put up with the violence of her jokes and the bitterness of her remarks.  She was an old maid, over forty, very plain, who, having reconciled herself to the fact that she was an old maid, chose to take advantage of such poor privileges as the position gave her.  Within the last few years a considerable fortune had fallen into her hands, some twenty-five thousand pounds, which had come to her unexpectedly,—­a wonderful windfall.  And now she was the only one of her family who had money at command.  She lived in a small house by herself, in one of the smallest streets of May Fair, and walked about sturdily by herself, and spoke her mind about everything.  She was greatly devoted to her brother Laurence,—­so devoted that there was nothing she would not do for him, short of lending him money.

But Phineas when he found himself out in the square thought nothing of Aspasia Fitzgibbon.  He had gone to Lady Laura Standish for sympathy, and she had given it to him in full measure.  She understood him and his aspirations if no one else did so on the face of the earth.  She rejoiced in his triumph, and was not too hard to tell him that she looked forward to his success.  And in what delightful language she had done so!  “Faint heart never won fair lady.”  It was thus, or almost thus, that she had encouraged him.  He knew well that she had in truth meant nothing more than her words had seemed to signify.  He did not for a moment attribute to her aught else.  But might not he get another lesson from them?  He had often told himself that he was not in love with Laura Standish;—­but why should he not how tell himself that he was in love with her?  Of course there would be difficulty.  But was it not the business of his life to overcome difficulties?  Had he not already overcome one difficulty almost as great; and why should he be afraid of this other?  Faint heart never won fair lady!  And this fair lady,—­for at this moment he was ready to swear that she was very fair,—­was already half won.  She could not have taken him by the hand so warmly, and looked into his face so keenly, had she not felt for him something stronger than common friendship.

He had turned down Baker Street from the square, and was now walking towards the Regent’s Park.  He would go and see the beasts in the Zoological Gardens, and make up his mind as to his future mode of life in that delightful Sunday solitude.  There was very much as to which it was necessary that he should make up his mind.  If he resolved that he would ask Lady Laura Standish to be his wife, when should he ask her, and in what manner might he propose to her that they should live?  It would hardly suit him to postpone his courtship indefinitely, knowing, as he did know, that he would be one among many suitors.  He could not expect her to wait for him if he did not declare himself.  And yet he could hardly ask her to come and share with him the allowance made to him by his father!  Whether she had much fortune of her own, or little, or none at all, he did not in the least know.  He did know that the Earl had been distressed by his son’s extravagance, and that there had been some money difficulties arising from this source.