“You are my friend,” he said, stretching out his hand to her as he turned away his face.  “You are my friend, indeed.”

“Then do as I would have you do.”

He put his hand into his pocket, and had the letter between his fingers with the purport of showing it to her.  But at the moment the thought occurred to him that were he to do so, then, indeed, he would be bound for ever.  He knew that he was bound for ever,—­bound for ever to his own Mary; but he desired to have the privilege of thinking over such bondage once more before he proclaimed it even to his dearest friend.  He had told her that she tempted him, and she stood before him now as a temptress.  But lest it might be possible that she should not tempt in vain,—­that letter in his pocket must never be shown to her.  In that case Lady Laura must never hear from his lips the name of Mary Flood Jones.

He left her without any assured purpose;—­without, that is, the assurance to her of any fixed purpose.  There yet wanted a week to the day on which Mr. Monk’s bill was to be read,—­or not to be read,—­the second time; and he had still that interval before he need decide.  He went to his club, and before he dined he strove to write a line to Mary;—­but when he had the paper before him he found that it was impossible to do so.  Though he did not even suspect himself of an intention to be false, the idea that was in his mind made the effort too much for him.  He put the paper away from him and went down and eat his dinner.

It was a Saturday, and there was no House in the evening.  He had remained in Portman Square with Lady Laura till near seven o’clock, and was engaged to go out in the evening to a gathering at Mrs. Gresham’s house.  Everybody in London would be there, and Phineas was resolved that as long as he remained in London he would be seen at places where everybody was seen.  He would certainly be at Mrs. Gresham’s gathering; but there was an hour or two before he need go home to dress, and as he had nothing to do, he went down to the smoking-room of his club.  The seats were crowded, but there was one vacant; and before he had looked about him to scrutinise his neighbourhood, he found that he had placed himself with Bonteen on his right hand and Ratler on his left.  There were no two men in all London whom he more thoroughly disliked; but it was too late for him to avoid them now.

They instantly attacked him, first on one side and then on the other.  “So I am told you are going to leave us,” said Bonteen.

“Who can have been ill-natured enough to whisper such a thing?” replied Phineas.

“The whispers are very loud, I can tell you,” said Ratler.  “I think I know already pretty nearly how every man in the House will vote, and I have not got your name down on the right side.”

“Change it for heaven’s sake,” said Phineas.

“I will, if you’ll tell me seriously that I may,” said Ratler.