“That’s right; 7.30 sharp,—­only I can tell you you won’t meet any other members.”  Then the servant announced more visitors, and Lord Chiltern escaped out of the room before he was seen by the new comers.  These were Mrs. Bonteen and Laurence Fitzgibbon, and then Mr. Bonteen,—­and after them Mr. Ratler, the Whip, who was in a violent hurry, and did not stay there a moment, and then Barrington Erle and young Lord James Fitz-Howard, the youngest son of the Duke of St. Bungay.  In twenty or thirty minutes there was a gathering of liberal political notabilities in Lady Laura’s drawing-room.  There were two great pieces of news by which they were all enthralled.  Mr. Mildmay would not be Prime Minister, and Sir Everard Powell was—­dead.  Of course nothing quite positive could be known about Mr. Mildmay.  He was to be with the Queen at Windsor on the morrow at eleven o’clock, and it was improbable that he would tell his mind to any one before he told it to her Majesty.  But there was no doubt that he had engaged “the Duke,”—­so he was called by Lord James,—­to go down to Windsor with him, that he might be in readiness if wanted.  “I have learned that at home,” said Lord James, who had just heard the news from his sister, who had heard it from the Duchess.  Lord James was delighted with the importance given to him by his father’s coming journey.  From this, and from other equally well-known circumstances, it was surmised that Mr. Mildmay would decline the task proposed to him.  This, nevertheless, was only a surmise,—­whereas the fact with reference to Sir Everard was fully substantiated.  The gout had flown to his stomach, and he was dead.  “By ——­ yes; as dead as a herring,” said Mr. Ratler, who at that moment, however, was not within hearing of either of the ladies present.  And then he rubbed his hands, and looked as though he were delighted.  And he was delighted,—­not because his old friend Sir Everard was dead, but by the excitement of the tragedy.  “Having done so good a deed in his last moments,” said Laurence Fitzgibbon, “we may take it for granted that he will go straight to heaven.”  “I hope there will be no crowner’s quest, Ratler,” said Mr. Bonteen; “if there is I don’t know how you’ll get out of it.”  “I don’t see anything in it so horrible,” said Mr. Ratler.  “If a fellow dies leading his regiment we don’t think anything of it.  Sir Everard’s vote was of more service to his country than anything that a colonel or a captain can do.”  But nevertheless I think that Mr. Ratler was somewhat in dread of future newspaper paragraphs, should it be found necessary to summon a coroner’s inquisition to sit upon poor Sir Everard.

While this was going on Lady Laura took Phineas apart for a moment.  “I am so much obliged to you; I am indeed,” she said.

“What nonsense!”

“Never mind whether it’s nonsense or not;—­but I am.  I can’t explain it all now, but I do so want you to know my brother.  You may be of the greatest service to him,—­of the very greatest.  He is not half so bad as people say he is.  In many ways he is very good,—­very good.  And he is very clever.”