During that evening, that night, and the next
morning, she remained playing with the coronet in her lap. She would
not go to church. What good could any sermon do her while that bauble
was dangling before her eyes? After church-time, about two o'clock,
Phineas Finn came to her. Just at this period Phineas would come
to her often;--sometimes full of a new decision to forget Violet
Effingham altogether, at others minded to continue his siege let the
hope of success be ever so small. He had now heard that Violet and
Lord Chiltern had in truth quarrelled, and was of course anxious to
be advised to continue the siege. When he first came in and spoke a
word or two, in which there was no reference to Violet Effingham,
there came upon Madame Goesler a strong wish to decide at once that
she would play no longer with the coronet, that the gem was not worth
the cost she would be called upon to pay for it. There was something
in the world better for her than the coronet,--if only it might be
had. But within ten minutes he had told her the whole tale about Lord
Chiltern, and how he had seen Violet at Lady Baldock's,--and how
there might yet be hope for him. What would she advise him to do? "Go
home, Mr. Finn," she said, "and write a sonnet to her eyebrow.
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