But Lady Laura was at home,--as a matter
of course. In those days she never went into society, and had not
passed an evening away from her father's house since Mr. Kennedy's
death. He was shown up into the drawing-room in which she sat, and
there he found her--alone. "Oh, Phineas, I am so glad you have come."
"I have done as I said, you see."
"I could not go to you when they told me that you were ill. You will
have understood all that?"
"Yes; I understand."
"People are so hard, and cold, and stiff, and cruel, that one can
never do what one feels, oneself, to be right. So you have given up
your seat."
"Yes,--I am no longer a Member of Parliament."
"Barrington says that they will certainly re-elect you."
"We shall see. You may be sure at any rate of this,--that I shall
never ask them to do so. Things seem to be so different now from what
they did. I don't care for the seat. It all seems to be a bore and a
trouble. What does it matter who sits in Parliament? The fight goes
on just the same. The same falsehoods are acted.
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