“Only think of your being in Parliament, Mr. Finn,” said Mrs. Low.

“It is wonderful, isn’t it?” said Phineas.

“It took us so much by surprise!” said Mrs. Low.  “As a rule one never hears of a barrister going into Parliament till after he’s forty.”

“And I’m only twenty-five.  I do feel that I’ve disgraced myself.  I do, indeed, Mrs. Low.”

“No;—­you’ve not disgraced yourself, Mr. Finn.  The only question is, whether it’s prudent.  I hope it will all turn out for the best, most heartily.”  Mrs. Low was a very matter-of-fact lady, four or five years older than her husband, who had had a little money of her own, and was possessed of every virtue under the sun.  Nevertheless she did not quite like the idea of her husband’s pupil having got into Parliament.  If her husband and Phineas Finn were dining anywhere together, Phineas, who had come to them quite a boy, would walk out of the room before her husband.  This could hardly be right!  Nevertheless she helped Phineas to the nicest bit of fish she could find, and had he been ill, would have nursed him with the greatest care.

After dinner, when Mrs. Low had gone up-stairs, there came the great discussion between the tutor and the pupil, for the sake of which this little dinner had been given.  When Phineas had last been with Mr. Low,—­on the occasion of his showing himself at his tutor’s chambers after his return from Ireland,—­he had not made up his mind so thoroughly on certain points as he had done since he had seen Lady Laura.  The discussion could hardly be of any avail now,—­but it could not be avoided.

“Well, Phineas, and what do you mean to do?” said Mr. Low.  Everybody who knew our hero, or nearly everybody, called him by his Christian name.  There are men who seem to be so treated by general consent in all societies.  Even Mrs. Low, who was very prosaic, and unlikely to be familiar in her mode of address, had fallen into the way of doing it before the election.  But she had dropped it, when the Phineas whom she used to know became a member of Parliament.

“That’s the question;—­isn’t it?” said Phineas.

“Of course you’ll stick to your work?”

“What;—­to the Bar?”

“Yes;—­to the Bar.”

“I am not thinking of giving it up permanently.”

“Giving it up,” said Mr. Low, raising his hands in surprise.  “If you give it up, how do you intend to live?  Men are not paid for being members of Parliament.”

“Not exactly.  But, as I said before, I am not thinking of giving it up,—­permanently.”

“You mustn’t give it up at all,—­not for a day; that is, if you ever mean to do any good.”

“There I think that perhaps you may be wrong, Low!”

“How can I be wrong?  Did a period of idleness ever help a man in any profession?  And is it not acknowledged by all who know anything about it, that continuous labour is more necessary in our profession than in any other?”