Phineas came over and stood for the borough against Mr. Lambert St. George, and the contest was sharp enough.  The gentry of the neighbourhood could not understand why such a man as Lord Tulla should admit a liberal candidate to succeed his brother.  No one canvassed for the young Under-Secretary with more persistent zeal than did his father, who, when Phineas first spoke of going into Parliament, had produced so many good arguments against that perilous step.  Lord Tulla’s agent stood aloof,—­desolate with grief at the death of the late member.  At such a moment of family affliction, Lord Tulla, he declared, could not think of such a matter as the borough.  But it was known that Lord Tulla was dreadfully jealous of Mr. Lambert St. George, whose property in that part of the county was now nearly equal to his own, and who saw much more company at Mockrath than was ever entertained at Castlemorris.  A word from Lord Tulla,—­so said the Conservatives of the county,—­would have put Mr. St. George into the seat; but that word was not spoken, and the Conservatives of the neighbourhood swore that Lord Tulla was a renegade.  The contest was very sharp, but our hero was returned by a majority of seventeen votes.

Again successful!  As he thought of it he remembered stories of great generals who were said to have chained Fortune to the wheels of their chariots, but it seemed to him that the goddess had never served any general with such staunch obedience as she had displayed in his cause.  Had not everything gone well with him;—­so well, as almost to justify him in expecting that even yet Violet Effingham would become his wife?  Dear, dearest Violet!  If he could only achieve that, no general, who ever led an army across the Alps, would be his equal either in success or in the reward of success.  Then he questioned himself as to what he would say to Miss Flood Jones on that very night.  He was to meet dear little Mary Flood Jones that evening at a neighbour’s house.  His sister Barbara had so told him in a tone of voice which he quite understood to imply a caution.  “I shall be so glad to see her,” Phineas had replied.

“If there ever was an angel on earth, it is Mary,” said Barbara Finn.

“I know that she is as good as gold,” said Phineas.

“Gold!” replied Barbara,—­“gold indeed!  She is more precious than refined gold.  But, Phineas, perhaps you had better not single her out for any special attention.  She has thought it wisest to meet you.”

“Of course,” said Phineas.  “Why not?”

“That is all, Phineas.  I have nothing more to say.  Men of course are different from girls.”

“That’s true, Barbara, at any rate.”

“Don’t laugh at me, Phineas, when I am thinking of nothing but of you and your interests, and when I am making all manner of excuses for you because I know what must be the distractions of the world in which you live.”  Barbara made more than one attempt to renew the conversation before the evening came, but Phineas thought that he had had enough of it.  He did not like being told that excuses were made for him.  After all, what had he done?  He had once kissed Mary Flood Jones behind the door.