Phineas, though he had intended to show to Mrs. Bonteen how little he thought about the Duke of Omnium,—­how small was his respect for a great peer who took no part in politics,—­could not protect himself from a certain feeling of anxiety as to the aspect and gait and words of the man of whom people thought so much, of whom he had heard so often, and of whom he had seen so little.  He told himself that the Duke of Omnium should be no more to him than any other man, but yet the Duke of Omnium was more to him than other men.  When he came down into the drawing-room he was angry with himself, and stood apart;—­and was then angry with himself again because he stood apart.  Why should he make a difference in his own bearing because there was such a man in the company?  And yet he could not avoid it.  When he entered the room the Duke was standing in a large bow-window, and two or three ladies and two or three men were standing round him.  Phineas would not go near the group, telling himself that he would not approach a man so grand as was the Duke of Omnium.  He saw Madame Max Goesler among the party, and after a while he saw her retreat.  As she retreated, Phineas knew that some words from Madame Max Goesler had not been received with the graciousness which she had expected.  There was the prettiest smile in the world on the lady’s face, and she took a corner on a sofa with an air of perfect satisfaction.  But yet Phineas knew that she had received a wound.

“I called twice on you in London,” said Phineas, coming up close to her, “but was not fortunate enough to find you!”

“Yes;—­but you came so late in the season as to make it impossible that there should be any arrangements for our meeting.  What can any woman do when a gentleman calls on her in August?”

“I came in July.”

“Yes, you did; on the 31st.  I keep the most accurate record of all such things, Mr. Finn.  But let us hope that we may have better luck next year.  In the meantime, we can only enjoy the good things that are going.”

“Socially, or politically, Madame Goesler?”

“Oh, socially.  How can I mean anything else when the Duke of Omnium is here?  I feel so much taller at being in the same house with him.  Do not you?  But you are a spoilt child of fortune, and perhaps you have met him before.”

“I think I once saw the back of a hat in the park, and somebody told me that the Duke’s head was inside it.”

“And you have never seen him but that once?”

“Never but that once,—­till now.”

“And do not you feel elated?”

“Of course I do.  For what do you take me, Madame Goesler?”

“I do,—­immensely.  I believe him to be a fool, and I never heard of his doing a kind act to anybody in my life.”

“Not when he gave the racehorse to Lady Glencora?”

“I wonder whether that was true.  Did you ever hear of such an absurdity?  As I was saying, I don’t think he ever did anything for anybody;—­but then, you know, to be Duke of Omnium!  It isn’t necessary,—­is it,—­that a Duke of Omnium should do anything except be Duke of Omnium?”