"Those moral speculations, Mr. Finn," he said, "will hardly bear the wear and tear of real life." The words of the answer, combined with the manner in which they were spoken, were stern and almost uncivil. Phineas, at any rate, had done nothing to offend him. The Duke paused, trying to find some expression by which he might correct the injury he had done; but, not finding any, passed on without further speech. Phineas shrugged his shoulders and went his way, telling himself that he had received one further injunction not to put his trust in princes.
"We shall be beaten, certainly," said Mr. Monk to Phineas, not long afterwards.
"What makes you so sure?"
"I smell it in the air. I see it in men's faces."
"And yet it's a moderate Bill. They'll have to pass something stronger before long if they throw it out now."
"It's not the Bill that they'll reject, but us. We have served our turn, and we ought to go."
"The House is tired of the Duke?"
"The Duke is so good a man that I hardly like to admit even that;—but I fear it is so. He is fretful and he makes enemies."
"I sometimes think that he is ill."
"He is ill at ease and sick at heart. He cannot hide his chagrin, and then is doubly wretched because he has betrayed it. I do not know that I ever respected and, at the same time, pitied a man more thoroughly."