Phineas was taken so much by surprise that all his cunning failed him. "Well, yes," said he; "I was very sorry;—very sorry indeed."
"It seems to me, Finn, that you have had some reason for avoiding me of late. I do not know that I have done anything to offend you."
"Nothing on earth," said Phineas.
"I am wrong, then, in supposing that anything beyond mere chance has prevented you from coming to my house?" Phineas felt that he was in a terrible difficulty, and he felt also that he was being rather ill-used in being thus cross-examined as to his reasons for not going to a gentleman's dinner. He thought that a man ought to be allowed to choose where he would go and where he would not go, and that questions such as these were very uncommon. Mr. Kennedy was sitting opposite to him, looking more grave and more sour than usual;—and now his own countenance also became a little solemn. It was impossible that he should use Lady Laura's name, and yet he must, in some way, let his persecuting friend know that no further invitation would be of any use;—that there was something beyond mere chance in his not going to Grosvenor Place. But how was he to do this? The difficulty was so great that he could not see his way out of it. So he sat silent with a solemn face. Mr. Kennedy then asked him another question, which made the difficulty ten times greater. "Has my wife asked you not to come to our house?"
It was necessary now that he should make a rush and get out of his trouble in some way. "To tell you the truth, Kennedy, I don't think she wants to see me there."
"That does not answer my question. Has she asked you not to come?"
"She said that which left on my mind an impression that she would sooner that I did not come."
"What did she say?"
"How can I answer such a question as that, Kennedy? Is it fair to ask it?"
"Quite fair,—I think."