“Bedad, it’s my father would be glad to see you,—­and the oftener the better.”

“The fact is, my time is filled up.”

“You’re not going to be one of the party at Loughlinter?”

“I believe I am.  Kennedy asked me, and people seem to think that everybody is to do what he bids them.”

“I should think so too.  I wish he had asked me.  I should have thought it as good as a promise of an under-secretaryship.  All the Cabinet are to be there.  I don’t suppose he ever had an Irishman in his house before.  When do you start?”

“Well;—­on the 12th or 13th.  I believe I shall go to Saulsby on my way.”

“The devil you will.  Upon my word, Phineas, my boy, you’re the luckiest fellow I know.  This is your first year, and you’re asked to the two most difficult houses in England.  You have only to look out for an heiress now.  There is little Vi Effingham;—­she is sure to be at Saulsby.  Good-bye, old fellow.  Don’t you be in the least unhappy about the bill.  I’ll see to making that all right.”

Phineas was rather unhappy about the bill; but there was so much that was pleasant in his cup at the present moment, that he resolved, as far as possible, to ignore the bitter of that one ingredient.  He was a little in the dark as to two or three matters respecting these coming visits.  He would have liked to have taken a servant with him; but he had no servant, and felt ashamed to hire one for the occasion.  And then he was in trouble about a gun, and the paraphernalia of shooting.  He was not a bad shot at snipe in the bogs of county Clare, but he had never even seen a gun used in England.  However, he bought himself a gun,—­with other paraphernalia, and took a license for himself, and then groaned over the expense to which he found that his journey would subject him.  And at last he hired a servant for the occasion.  He was intensely ashamed of himself when he had done so, hating himself, and telling himself that he was going to the devil headlong.  And why had he done it?  Not that Lady Laura would like him the better, or that she would care whether he had a servant or not.  She probably would know nothing of his servant.  But the people about her would know, and he was foolishly anxious that the people about her should think that he was worthy of her.

Then he called on Mr. Low before he started.  “I did not like to leave London without seeing you,” he said; “but I know you will have nothing pleasant to say to me.”

“I shall say nothing unpleasant certainly.  I see your name in the divisions, and I feel a sort of envy myself.”

“Any fool could go into a lobby,” said Phineas.

“To tell you the truth, I have been gratified to see that you have had the patience to abstain from speaking till you had looked about you.  It was more than I expected from your hot Irish blood.  Going to meet Mr. Gresham and Mr. Monk,—­are you?  Well, I hope you may meet them in the Cabinet some day.  Mind you come and see me when Parliament meets in February.”