“Of course it is Phineas Finn.”

“Did he ever ask you,—­to love him?”

“I feared he would do so, and therefore accepted Mr. Kennedy’s offer almost at the first word.”

“I do not quite understand your reasoning, Laura.”

“I understand it.  I could have refused him nothing in my power to give him, but I did not wish to be his wife.”

“And he never asked you?”

Lady Laura paused a moment, thinking what reply she should make;—­and then she told a fib.  “No; he never asked me.”  But Violet did not believe the fib.  Violet was quite sure that Phineas had asked Lady Laura Standish to be his wife.  “As far as I can see,” said Violet, “Madame Max Goesler is his present passion.”

“I do not believe it in the least,” said Lady Laura, firing up.

“It does not much matter,” said Violet.

“It would matter very much.  You know, you,—­you; you know whom he loves.  And I do believe that sooner or later you will be his wife.”

“Never.”

“Yes, you will.  Had you not loved him you would never have condescended to accuse him about that woman.”

“I have not accused him.  Why should he not marry Madame Max Goesler?  It would be just the thing for him.  She is very rich.”

“Never.  You will be his wife.”

“Laura, you are the most capricious of women.  You have two dear friends, and you insist that I shall marry them both.  Which shall I take first?”

“Oswald will be here in a day or two, and you can take him if you like it.  No doubt he will ask you.  But I do not think you will.”

“No; I do not think I shall.  I shall knock under to Mr. Mill, and go in for women’s rights, and look forward to stand for some female borough.  Matrimony never seemed to me to be very charming, and upon my word it does not become more alluring by what I find at Loughlinter.”

It was thus that Violet and Lady Laura discussed these matters together, but Violet had never showed to her friend the cards in her hand, as Lady Laura had shown those which she held.  Lady Laura had in fact told almost everything that there was to tell,—­had spoken either plainly with true words, or equally plainly with words that were not true.  Violet Effingham had almost come to love Phineas Finn;—­but she never told her friend that it was so.  At one time she had almost made up her mind to give herself and all her wealth to this adventurer.  He was a better man, she thought, than Lord Chiltern; and she had come to persuade herself that it was almost imperative on her to take the one or the other.  Though she could talk about remaining unmarried, she knew that that was practically impossible.  All those around her,—­those of the Baldock as well as those of the Brentford faction,—­would make such a life impossible to her.  Besides, in such a case what could she do?  It was all very well to talk of disregarding the world and of setting