privilege of using their own judgment for that occasion only, used it discreetly,—­as their chief had used it himself,—­and Mr. Turnbull carried his clause by a majority of fifteen.  It was then 3 a.m., and Mr. Gresham, rising after the division, said that his right honourable friend the First Lord of the Treasury was too tired to return to the House, and had requested him to state that the Government would declare their purpose at 6 p.m. on the following evening.

Phineas, though he had made his little speech in answer to Mr. Turnbull with good-humoured flippancy, had recorded his vote in favour of the seven boroughs with a sore heart.  Much as he disliked Mr. Turnbull, he knew that Mr. Turnbull was right in this.  He had spoken to Mr. Monk on the subject, as it were asking Mr. Monk’s permission to throw up his office, and vote against Mr. Mildmay.  But Mr. Monk was angry with him, telling him that his conscience was of that restless, uneasy sort which is neither useful nor manly.  “We all know,” said Mr. Monk, “and none better than Mr. Mildmay, that we cannot justify such a borough as Loughton by the theory of our parliamentary representation,—­any more than we can justify the fact that Huntingdonshire should return as many members as the East Riding.  There must be compromises, and you should trust to others who have studied the matter more thoroughly than you, to say how far the compromise should go at the present moment.”

“It is the influence of the peer, not the paucity of the electors,” said Phineas.

“And has no peer any influence in a county?  Would you disfranchise Westmoreland?  Believe me, Finn, if you want to be useful, you must submit yourself in such matters to those with whom you act.”

Phineas had no answer to make, but he was not happy in his mind.  And he was the less happy, perhaps, because he was very sure that Mr. Mildmay would be beaten.  Mr. Low in these days harassed him sorely.  Mr. Low was very keen against such boroughs as Loughton, declaring that Mr. Daubeny was quite right to join his standard to that of Mr. Turnbull on such an issue.  Mr. Low was the reformer now, and Phineas found himself obliged to fight a losing battle on behalf of an acknowledged abuse.  He never went near Bunce; but, unfortunately for him, Bunce caught him once in the street and showed him no mercy.  “Slide was a little ’eavy on you in the Banner the other day,—­eh, Mr. Finn?—­too ’eavy, as I told him.”

“Mr. Slide can be just as heavy as he pleases, Bunce.”

“That’s in course.  The press is free, thank God,—­as yet.  But it wasn’t any good rattling away at the Earl’s little borough when it’s sure to go.  Of course it’ll go, Mr. Finn.”

“I think it will.”

“The whole seven on ’em.  The ’ouse couldn’t but do it.  They tell me it’s all Mr. Mildmay’s own work, sticking out for keeping on ’em.  He’s very old, and so we’ll forgive him.  But he must go, Mr. Finn.”