Loughlinter, Friday.

“What does she mean about nine years?” said Lady Baldock in her wrath.

“She is joking,” said the mild Augusta.

“I believe she would—­joke, if I were going to be buried,” said Lady Baldock.

CHAPTER LIII

Showing How Phineas Bore the Blow

When Phineas received Lady Laura Kennedy’s letter, he was sitting in his gorgeous apartment in the Colonial Office.  It was gorgeous in comparison with the very dingy room at Mr. Low’s to which he had been accustomed in his early days,—­and somewhat gorgeous also as compared with the lodgings he had so long inhabited in Mr. Bunce’s house.  The room was large and square, and looked out from three windows on to St. James’s Park.  There were in it two very comfortable arm-chairs and a comfortable sofa.  And the office table at which he sat was of old mahogany, shining brightly, and seemed to be fitted up with every possible appliance for official comfort.  This stood near one of the windows, so that he could sit and look down upon the park.  And there was a large round table covered with books and newspapers.  And the walls of the room were bright with maps of all the colonies.  And there was one very interesting map,—­but not very bright,—­showing the American colonies, as they used to be.  And there was a little inner closet in which he could brush his hair and wash his hands; and in the room adjoining there sat,—­or ought to have sat, for he was often absent, vexing the mind of Phineas,—­the Earl’s nephew, his private secretary.  And it was all very gorgeous.  Often as he looked round upon it, thinking of his old bedroom at Killaloe, of his little garrets at Trinity, of the dingy chambers in Lincoln’s Inn, he would tell himself that it was very gorgeous.  He would wonder that anything so grand had fallen to his lot.

The letter from Scotland was brought to him in the afternoon, having reached London by some day-mail from Glasgow.  He was sitting at his desk with a heap of papers before him referring to a contemplated railway from Halifax, in Nova Scotia, to the foot of the Rocky Mountains.  It had become his business to get up the subject, and then discuss with his principal, Lord Cantrip, the expediency of advising the Government to lend a company five million of money, in order that this railway might be made.  It was a big subject, and the contemplation of it gratified him.  It required that he should look forward to great events, and exercise the wisdom of a statesman.  What was the chance of these colonies being swallowed up by those other regions,—­once colonies,—­of which the map that hung in the corner told so eloquent a tale?  And if so, would the five million ever be repaid?  And if not swallowed up, were the colonies worth so great an adventure of national money?  Could they repay it?  Would they do so?  Should they be made to do so?  Mr. Low, who was now a