The Duellists Meet
Lord Chiltern arrived, and Phineas was a little nervous as to their
meeting. He came back from shooting on the day in question, and was
told by the servant that Lord Chiltern was in the house. Phineas went
into the billiard-room in his knickerbockers, thinking probably that
he might be there, and then into the drawing-room, and at last into
the library,--but Lord Chiltern was not to be found. At last he came
across Violet.
“Have you seen him?” he asked.
“Yes;--he was with me half an hour since, walking round the gardens.”
“And how is he? Come;--tell me something about him.”
“I never knew him to be more pleasant. He would give no promise about
Saulsby, but he did not say that he would not go.”
“Does he know that I am here?”
“Yes;--I told him so. I told him how much pleasure I should have in
seeing you two together,--as friends.”
“And what did he say?”
“He laughed, and said you were the best fellow in the world. You see
I am obliged to be explicit.”
“But why did he laugh?” Phineas asked.
“He did not tell me, but I suppose it was because he was thinking of
a little trip he once took to Belgium, and he perceived that I knew
all about it.”
“I wonder who told you. But never mind. I do not mean to ask any
questions. As I do not like that our first meeting should be before
all the people in the drawing-room, I will go to him in his own
room.”
“Do, do;--that will be so nice of you.”
Phineas sent his card up by a servant, and in a few minutes was
standing with his hand on the lock of Lord Chiltern’s door. The last
time he had seen this man, they had met with pistols in their hands
to shoot at each other, and Lord Chiltern had in truth done his very
best to shoot his opponent. The cause of quarrel was the same between
them as ever. Phineas had not given up Violet, and had no intention
of giving her up. And he had received no intimation whatever from his
rival that there was to be a truce between them. Phineas had indeed
written in friendship to Lord Chiltern, but he had received no
answer;--and nothing of certainty was to be gathered from the report
which Violet had just made. It might well be that Lord Chiltern
would turn upon him now in his wrath, and that there would be some
scene which in a strange house would be obviously objectionable.
Nevertheless he had resolved that even that would be better than a
chance encounter among strangers in a drawing-room. So the door was
opened and the two men met.
“Well, old fellow,” said Lord Chiltern, laughing. Then all doubt was
over, and in a moment Phineas was shaking his former,--and present
friend, warmly by the hand. “So we’ve come to be an Under-Secretary
have we?--and all that kind of thing.”
“I had to get into harness,--when the harness offered itself,” said
Phineas.
“I suppose so. It’s a deuce of a bore, isn’t it?”
“I always liked work, you know.”
“I thought you liked hunting better. You used to ride as if you did.
There’s Bonebreaker back again in the stable for you. That poor fool
who bought him could do nothing with him, and I let him have his
money back.”
“I don’t see why you should have done that.”
“Because I was the biggest fool of the two. Do you remember when that
brute got me down under the bank in the river? That was about the
nearest touch I ever had. Lord bless me;--how he did squeeze me! So
here you are;--staying with the Pallisers,--one of a Government party
I suppose. But what are you going to do for a seat, my friend?”
“Don’t talk about that yet, Chiltern.”
“A sore subject,--isn’t it? I think they have been quite right, you
know, to put Loughton into the melting-pot,--though I’m sorry enough
for your sake.”
“Quite right,” said Phineas.
“And yet you voted against it, old chap? But, come; I’m not going to
be down upon you. So my father has been here?”
“Yes;--he was here for a day or two.”
“Violet has just been telling me. You and he are as good friends as
ever?”
“I trust we are.”
“He never heard of that little affair?” And Lord Chiltern nodded his
head, intending to indicate the direction of Blankenberg.
“I do not think he has yet.”
“So Violet tells me. Of course you know that she has heard all about
it.”
“I have reason to suppose as much.”
“And so does Laura.”
“I told her myself,” said Phineas.
“The deuce you did! But I daresay it was for the best. It’s a pity
you had not proclaimed it at Charing Cross, and then nobody would
have believed a word about it. Of course my father will hear it some
day.”
“You are going to Saulsby, I hope, Chiltern?”
“That question is easier asked than answered. It is quite true that
the great difficulty has been got over. Laura has had her money. And
if my father will only acknowledge that he has wronged me throughout,
from beginning to end, I will go to Saulsby to-morrow;--and would cut
you out at Loughton the next day, only that Loughton is not Loughton
any longer.”
“You cannot expect your father to do that.”
“No;--and therefore there is a difficulty. So you’ve had that awfully
ponderous Duke here. How did you get on with him?”
“Admirably. He condescended to do something which he called shaking
hands with me.”
“He is the greatest old dust out,” said Lord Chiltern,
disrespectfully. “Did he take any notice of Violet?”
“Not that I observed.”
“He ought not to be allowed into the same room with her.” After that
there was a short pause, and Phineas felt some hesitation in speaking
of Miss Effingham to Lord Chiltern. “And how do you get on with her?”
asked Lord Chiltern. Here was a question for a man to answer. The
question was so hard to be answered, that Phineas did not at first
make any attempt to answer it. “You know exactly the ground that I
stand on,” continued Lord Chiltern. “She has refused me three times.
Have you been more fortunate?”
Lord Chiltern, as he asked his question, looked full into Finn’s face
in a manner that was irresistible. His look was not one of anger nor
even of pride. It was not, indeed, without a strong dash of fun. But
such as it was it showed Phineas that Lord Chiltern intended to have
an answer. “No,” said he at last, “I have not been more fortunate.”
“Perhaps you have changed your mind,” said his host.
“No;--I have not changed my mind,” said Phineas, quickly.
“How stands it then? Come;--let us be honest to each other. I told
you down at Willingford that I would quarrel with any man who
attempted to cut me out with Violet Effingham. You made up your mind
that you would do so, and therefore I quarrelled with you. But we
can’t always be fighting duels.”
“I hope we may not have to fight another.”
“No;--it would be absurd,” said Lord Chiltern. “I rather think that
what we did was absurd. But upon my life I did not see any other way
out of it. However, that is over. How is it to be now?”
“What am I to say in answer to that?” asked Phineas.
“Just the truth. You have asked her, I suppose?”
“Yes;--I have asked her.”
“And she has refused you?”
“Yes;--she has refused me.”
“And you mean to ask her again?”
“I shall;--if I ever think that there is a chance. Indeed, Chiltern,
I believe I shall whether I think that I have any chance or not.”
“Then we start fairly, Finn. I certainly shall do so. I believe
I once told you that I never would;--but that was long before I
suspected that you would enter for the same plate. What a man says on
such a matter when he is down in the mouth goes for nothing. Now we
understand each other, and you had better go and dress. The bell rang
nearly half an hour ago, and my fellow is hanging about outside the
door.”
The interview had in one respect been very pleasant to Phineas, and
in another it had been very bitter. It was pleasant to him to know
that he and Lord Chiltern were again friends. It was a delight to
him to feel that this half-savage but high-spirited young nobleman,
who had been so anxious to fight with him and to shoot him, was
nevertheless ready to own that he had behaved well. Lord Chiltern
had in fact acknowledged that though he had been anxious to blow
out our hero’s brains, he was aware all the time that our hero was
a good sort of fellow. Phineas understood this, and felt that it
was pleasant. But with this understanding, and accompanying this
pleasure, there was a conviction in his heart that the distance
between Lord Chiltern and Violet would daily grow to be less and
still less,--and that Lord Chiltern could afford to be generous. If
Miss Effingham could teach herself to be fond of Lord Chiltern, what
had he, Phineas Finn, to offer in opposition to the claims of such a
suitor?
That evening Lord Chiltern took Miss Effingham out to dinner. Phineas
told himself that this was of course so arranged by Lady Glencora,
with the express view of serving the Saulsby interest. It was almost
nothing to him at the moment that Madame Max Goesler was intrusted
to him. He had his ambition respecting Madame Max Goesler; but that
for the time was in abeyance. He could hardly keep his eyes off Miss
Effingham. And yet, as he well knew, his observation of her must be
quite useless. He knew beforehand, with absolute accuracy, the manner
in which she would treat her lover. She would be kind, genial,
friendly, confidential, nay, affectionate; and yet her manner would
mean nothing, would give no clue to her future decision either for or
against Lord Chiltern. It was, as Phineas thought, a peculiarity with
Violet Effingham that she could treat her rejected lovers as dear
familiar friends immediately after her rejection of them.
“Mr. Finn,” said Madame Max Goesler, “your eyes and ears are
tell-tales of your passion.”
“I hope not,” said Phineas, “as I certainly do not wish that any one
should guess how strong is my regard for you.”
“That is prettily turned,--very prettily turned; and shows more
readiness of wit than I gave you credit for under your present
suffering. But of course we all know where your heart is. Men do not
undertake perilous journeys to Belgium for nothing.”
“That unfortunate journey to Belgium! But, dear Madame Max, really
nobody knows why I went.”
“You met Lord Chiltern there?”
“Oh yes;--I met Lord Chiltern there.”
“And there was a duel?”
“Madame Max,--you must not ask me to criminate myself!”
“Of course there was, and of course it was about Miss Effingham, and
of course the lady thinks herself bound to refuse both the gentlemen
who were so very wicked, and of course--”
“Well,--what follows?”
“Ah! if you have not wit enough to see, I do not think it can be my
duty to tell you. But I wished to caution you as a friend that your
eyes and ears should be more under your command.”
“You will go to Saulsby?” Violet said to Lord Chiltern.
“I cannot possibly tell as yet,” said he, frowning.
“Then I can tell you that you ought to go. I do not care a bit for
your frowns. What does the fifth commandment say?”
“If you have no better arguments than the commandments, Violet--”
“There can be none better. Do you mean to say that the commandments
are nothing to you?”
“I mean to say that I shan’t go to Saulsby because I am told in the
twentieth chapter of Exodus to honour my father and mother,--and that
I shouldn’t believe anybody who told me that he did anything because
of the commandments.”
“Oh, Lord Chiltern!”
“People are so prejudiced and so used to humbug that for the most
part they do not in the least know their own motives for what they
do. I will go to Saulsby to-morrow,--for a reward.”
“For what reward?” said Violet, blushing.
“For the only one in the world that could tempt me to do anything.”
“You should go for the sake of duty. I should not even care to see
you go, much as I long for it, if that feeling did not take you
there.”
It was arranged that Phineas and Lord Chiltern were to leave Matching
together. Phineas was to remain at his office all October, and in
November the general election was to take place. What he had hitherto
heard about a future seat was most vague, but he was to meet Ratler
and Barrington Erle in London, and it had been understood that
Barrington Erle, who was now at Saulsby, was to make some inquiry as
to that group of boroughs of which Loughton at this moment formed
one. But as Loughton was the smallest of four boroughs, and as one of
the four had for many years had a representative of its own, Phineas
feared that no success would be found there. In his present agony
he began to think that there might be a strong plea made for a
few private seats in the House of Commons, and that the propriety
of throwing Loughton into the melting-pot was, after all, open to
question. He and Lord Chiltern were to return to London together,
and Lord Chiltern, according to his present scheme, was to proceed
at once to Willingford to look after the cub-hunting. Nothing that
either Violet or Phineas could say to him would induce him to
promise to go to Saulsby. When Phineas pressed it, he was told by
Lord Chiltern that he was a fool for his pains,--by which Phineas
understood perfectly well that when Lord Chiltern did go to Saulsby,
he, Phineas, was to take that as strong evidence that everything was
over for him as regarded Violet Effingham. When Violet expressed her
eagerness that the visit should be made, she was stopped with an
assurance that she could have it done at once if she pleased. Let him
only be enabled to carry with him the tidings of his betrothal, and
he would start for his father’s house without an hour’s delay. But
this authority Violet would not give him. When he answered her after
this fashion she could only tell him that he was ungenerous. “At any
rate I am not false,” he replied on one occasion. “What I say is the
truth.”
There was a very tender parting between Phineas and Madame Max
Goesler. She had learned from him pretty nearly all his history, and
certainly knew more of the reality of his affairs than any of those
in London who had been his most staunch friends. “Of course you’ll
get a seat,” she said as he took his leave of her. “If I understand
it at all, they never throw over an ally so useful as you are.”
“But the intention is that in this matter nobody shall any longer
have the power of throwing over, or of not throwing over, anybody.”
“That is all very well, my friend; but cakes will still be hot in the
mouth, even though Mr. Daubeny turn purist, with Mr. Turnbull to help
him. If you want any assistance in finding a seat you will not go to
the _People’s Banner_,--even yet.”
“Certainly not to the _People’s Banner_.”
“I don’t quite understand what the franchise is,” continued Madame
Max Goesler.
“Household in boroughs,” said Phineas with some energy.
“Very well;--household in boroughs. I daresay that is very fine and
very liberal, though I don’t comprehend it in the least. And you want
a borough. Very well. You won’t go to the households. I don’t think
you will;--not at first, that is.”
“Where shall I go then?”
“Oh,--to some great patron of a borough;--or to a club;--or perhaps
to some great firm. The households will know nothing about it till
they are told. Is not that it?”
“The truth is, Madame Max, I do not know where I shall go. I am like
a child lost in a wood. And you may understand this;--if you do not
see me in Park Lane before the end of January, I shall have perished
in the wood.”
“Then I will come and find you,--with a troop of householders. You
will come. You will be there. I do not believe in death coming
without signs. You are full of life.” As she spoke, she had hold
of his hand, and there was nobody near them. They were in a little
book-room inside the library at Matching, and the door, though not
latched, was nearly closed. Phineas had flattered himself that Madame
Goesler had retreated there in order that this farewell might be
spoken without interruption. “And, Mr. Finn;--I wonder whether I may
say one thing,” she continued.
“You may say anything to me,” he replied.
“No,--not in this country, in this England. There are things one
may not say here,--that are tabooed by a sort of consent,--and that
without any reason.” She paused again, and Phineas was at a loss to
think what was the subject on which she was about to speak. Could she
mean--? No; she could not mean to give him any outward plain-spoken
sign that she was attached to him. It was the peculiar merit of this
man that he was not vain, though much was done to him to fill him
with vanity; and as the idea crossed his brain, he hated himself
because it had been there.
“To me you may say anything, Madame Goesler,” he said,--“here in
England, as plainly as though we were in Vienna.”
“But I cannot say it in English,” she said. Then in French, blushing
and laughing as she spoke,--almost stammering in spite of her usual
self-confidence,--she told him that accident had made her rich, full
of money. Money was a drug with her. Money she knew was wanted, even
for householders. Would he not understand her, and come to her, and
learn from her how faithful a woman could be?
He still was holding her by the hand, and he now raised it to
his lips and kissed it. “The offer from you,” he said, “is as
high-minded, as generous, and as honourable as its acceptance by me
would be mean-spirited, vile, and ignoble. But whether I fail or
whether I succeed, you shall see me before the winter is over.”