not.  Mr. Mildmay named you himself.  ‘Do you think,’ he said, ’that your friend Finn would join us at the Treasury?’ I told him that I did think so.  ’And do you not think,’ said he, ‘that it would be a useful appointment?’ Then I ventured to say that I had no doubt whatever on that point;—­that I knew you well enough to feel confident that you would lend a strength to the Liberal Government.  Then there were a few words said about your seat, and I was commissioned to write to you.  That was all.”

Phineas was grateful, but not too grateful, and bore himself very well in the interview.  He explained to Lord Brentford that of course it was his object to serve the country,—­and to be paid for his services,—­and that he considered himself to be very fortunate to be selected so early in his career for parliamentary place.  He would endeavour to do his duty, and could safely say of himself that he did not wish to eat the bread of idleness.  As he made this assertion, he thought of Laurence Fitzgibbon.  Laurence Fitzgibbon had eaten the bread of idleness, and yet he was promoted.  But Phineas said nothing to Lord Brentford about his idle friend.  When he had made his little speech he asked a question about the borough.

“I have already ventured to write a letter to my agent at Loughton, telling him that you have accepted office, and that you will be shortly there again.  He will see Shortribs and arrange it.  But if I were you I should write to Shortribs and to Grating,—­after I had seen Mr. Mildmay.  Of course you will not mention my name,” And the Earl looked very grave as he uttered this caution.

“Of course I will not,” said Phineas.

“I do not think you’ll find any difficulty about the seat,” said the peer.  “There never has been any difficulty at Loughton yet.  I must say that for them.  And if we can scrape through with Clause 72 we shall be all right;—­shall we not?” This was the clause as to which so violent an opposition was expected from Mr. Turnbull,—­a clause as to which Phineas himself had felt that he would hardly know how to support the Government, in the event of the committee being pressed to a division upon it.  Could he, an ardent reformer, a reformer at heart,—­could he say that such a borough as Loughton should be spared;—­that the arrangement by which Shortribs and Grating had sent him to Parliament, in obedience to Lord Brentford’s orders, was in due accord with the theory of a representative legislature?  In what respect had Gatton and Old Sarum been worse than Loughton?  Was he not himself false to his principle in sitting for such a borough as Loughton?  He had spoken to Mr. Monk, and Mr. Monk had told him that Rome was not built in a day,—­and had told him also that good things were most valued and were more valuable when they came by instalments.  But then Mr. Monk himself enjoyed the satisfaction of sitting for a popular Constituency.  He was not personally pricked in the conscience by his own