The Palliser Novels: Complete Parliamentary Chronicles (All Six Novels in One Volume)
Mary Flood Jones of Killaloe, and our hero Phineas was not allowed to thirst in vain for a drop from the cool spring.
When the girls went down into the drawing-room Mary was careful to go to a part of the room quite remote from Phineas, so as to seat herself between Mrs. Finn and Dr. Finn’s young partner, Mr. Elias Bodkin, from Ballinasloe. But Mrs. Finn and the Miss Finns and all Killaloe knew that Mary had no love for Mr. Bodkin, and when Mr. Bodkin handed her the hot cake she hardly so much as smiled at him. But in two minutes Phineas was behind her chair, and then she smiled; and in five minutes more she had got herself so twisted round that she was sitting in a corner with Phineas and his sister Barbara; and in two more minutes Barbara had returned to Mr. Elias Bodkin, so that Phineas and Mary were uninterrupted. They manage these things very quickly and very cleverly in Killaloe.
“I shall be off tomorrow morning by the early train,” said Phineas.
“So soon;—and when will you have to begin,—in Parliament, I mean?”
“I shall have to take my seat on Friday. I’m going back just in time.”
“But when shall we hear of your saying something?”
“Never, probably. Not one in ten who go into Parliament ever do say anything.”
“But you will; won’t you? I hope you will. I do so hope you will distinguish yourself;—because of your sister, and for the sake of the town, you know.”
“And is that all, Mary?”
“Isn’t that enough?”
“You don’t care a bit about myself, then?”
“You know that I do. Haven’t we been friends ever since we were children? Of course it will be a great pride to me that a person whom I have known so intimately should come to be talked about as a great man.”
“I shall never be talked about as a great man.”
“You’re a great man to me already, being in Parliament. Only think;—I never saw a member of Parliament in my life before.”
“You’ve seen the bishop scores of times.”
“Is he in Parliament? Ah, but not like you. He couldn’t come to be a Cabinet Minister, and one never reads anything about him in the newspapers. I shall expect to see your name, very often, and I shall always look for it. ‘Mr. Phineas Finn paired off with Mr. Mildmay.’ What is the meaning of pairing off?”
“I’ll explain it all to you when I come back, after learning my lesson.”
“Mind you do come back. But I don’t suppose you ever will. You will be going somewhere to see Lady Laura Standish when you are not wanted in Parliament.”
“Lady Laura Standish!”
“And why shouldn’t you? Of course, with your prospects, you should go as much as possible among people of that sort. Is Lady Laura very pretty?”
“She’s about six feet high.”
“Nonsense. I don’t believe that.”
“She would look as though she were, standing by you.”
“Because I am so insignificant and small.”
“Because your figure is perfect, and because she is straggling. She is as unlike you as possible in everything. She has thick lumpy red hair, while yours is all silk and softness. She has large hands and feet, and—”
“Why, Phineas, you are making her out to be an ogress, and yet I know that you admire her.”
“So I do, because she possesses such an appearance of power. And after all, in spite of the lumpy hair, and in spite of large hands and straggling figure, she is handsome. One can’t tell what it is. One can see that she is quite contented with herself, and intends to make others contented with her. And so she does.”
“I see you are in love with her, Phineas.”
“No; not in love,—not with her at least. Of all men in the world, I suppose that I am the last that has a right to be in love. I daresay I shall marry some day.”
“I’m sure I hope you will.”
“But not till I’m forty or perhaps fifty years old. If I was not fool enough to have what men call a high ambition I might venture to be in love now.”
“I’m sure I’m very glad that you’ve got a high ambition. It is what every man ought to have; and I’ve no doubt that we shall hear of your marriage soon,—very soon. And then,—if she can help you in your ambition, we—shall—all—be so—glad.”
Phineas did not say a word further then. Perhaps some commotion among the party broke up the little private conversation in the corner. And he was not alone with Mary again till there came a moment for him to put her cloak over her shoulders in the back parlour, while Mrs. Flood Jones was finishing some important narrative to his mother. It was Barbara, I think, who stood in some doorway, and prevented people from passing, and so gave him the opportunity which he abused.
“Mary,” said he, taking her in his arms, without a single word of lovemaking beyond what the reader has heard,—”one kiss before we part.”
“No, Phineas, no!” But the kiss had been taken and given before she had even answered him. “Oh, Phineas, you shouldn’t!”
“I should. Why shouldn’t I? And, Mary, I will have one morsel of your hair.”
“You shall not; indeed you shall not!” But the scissors were at hand, and the ringlet was cut and in his pocket before she was ready with her resistance. There was nothing further;—not a word more, and Mary went away with her veil down, under her mother’s wing, weeping sweet silent tears which no one saw.
“You do love her; don’t you, Phineas?” asked Barbara.
“Bother! Do you go to bed, and don’t trouble yourself about such trifles. But mind you’re up, old girl, to see me off in the morning.”
Everybody was up to see him off in the morning, to give him coffee and good advice, and kisses, and to throw all manner of old shoes after him as he started on his great expedition to Parliament. His father gave him an extra twenty-pound note, and begged him for God’s sake to be careful about his money. His mother told him always to have an orange in his pocket when he intended to speak longer than usual. And Barbara in a last whisper begged him never to forget dear Mary Flood Jones.
Chapter III.
Phineas Finn Takes His Seat
Phineas had many serious, almost solemn thoughts on his journey towards London. I am sorry I must assure my female readers that very few of them had reference to Mary Flood Jones. He had, however, very carefully packed up the tress, and could bring that out for proper acts of erotic worship at seasons in which his mind might be less engaged with affairs of state than it was at present. Would he make a failure of this great matter which he had taken in hand? He could not but tell himself that the chances were twenty to one against him. Now that he looked nearer at it all, the difficulties loomed larger than ever, and the rewards seemed to be less, more difficult of approach, and more evanescent. How many members were there who could never get a hearing! How many who only spoke to fail! How many, who spoke well, who could speak to no effect as far as their own worldly prospects were concerned! He had already known many members of Parliament to whom no outward respect or sign of honour was ever given by any one; and it seemed to him, as he thought over it, that Irish members of Parliament were generally treated with more indifference than any others. There were O’B–––– and O’C–––– and O’D––––, for whom no one cared a straw, who could hardly get men to dine with them at the club, and yet they were genuine members of