Our hero had a bad half hour of it, though many words were said which must have gratified him much.  They all wanted to keep him,—­so Lord Cantrip declared, “except one or two whom I could name, and who are particularly anxious to wear his shoes,” said Barrington, thinking that certain reminiscences of Phineas with regard to Mr. Bonteen and others might operate as strongly as any other consideration to make him love his place.  Lord Brentford declared that he could not understand it,—­that he should find himself lost in amazement if such a man as his young friend allowed himself to be led into the outer wilderness by such an ignis-fatuus of light as this.  Lord Cantrip laid down the unwritten traditional law of Government officials very plainly.  A man in office,—­in an office which really imposed upon him as much work as he could possibly do with credit to himself or his cause,—­was dispensed from the necessity of a conscience with reference to other matters.  It was for Sir Walter Morrison to have a conscience about Irish tenant-right, as no doubt he had,—­just as Phineas Finn had a conscience about Canada, and Jamaica, and the Cape.  Barrington Erle was very strong about parties in general, and painted the comforts of official position in glowing colours.  But I think that the two ladies were more efficacious than even their male relatives in the arguments which they used.  “We have been so happy to have you among us,” said Lady Cantrip, looking at him with beseeching, almost loving eyes.  “Mr. Finn knows,” said Lady Laura, “that since he first came into Parliament I have always believed in his success, and I have been very proud to see it.”  “We shall weep over him, as over a fallen angel, if he leaves us,” said Lady Cantrip.  “I won’t say that I will weep,” said Lady Laura, “but I do not know anything of the kind that would so truly make me unhappy.”

What was he to say in answer to applications so flattering and so pressing?  He would have said nothing, had that been possible, but he felt himself obliged to reply.  He replied very weakly,—­of course, not justifying himself, but declaring that as he had gone so far he must go further.  He must vote for the measure now.  Both his chief and Barrington Erle proved, or attempted to prove, that he was wrong in this.  Of course he would not speak on the measure, and his vote for his party would probably be allowed to pass without notice.  One or two newspapers might perhaps attack him; but what public man cared for such attacks as those?  His whole party would hang by him, and in that he would find ample consolation.  Phineas could only say that he would think of it;—­and this he said in so irresolute a tone of voice that all the men then present believed that he was gained.  The two ladies, however, were of a different opinion.  “In spite of anything that anybody may say, he will do what he thinks right when the time comes,” said Laura to her father afterwards.  But then Lady Laura had been in love with him,—­was perhaps almost in love with him still.  “I’m afraid he is a mule,” said Lady Cantrip to her husband.  “He’s a good mule up a hill with a load on his back,” said his lordship.  “But with a mule there always comes a time when you can’t manage him,” said Lady Cantrip.  But Lady Cantrip had never been in love with Phineas.