But there was at the same time a resolve on his part, that if any man
had ever loved the girl he promised to love, he would love Mary Flood
Jones. A thousand times he had told himself that she had not the
spirit of Lady Laura, or the bright wit of Violet Effingham, or the
beauty of Madame Goesler. But Mary had charms of her own that were
more valuable than them all. Was there one among the three who had
trusted him as she trusted him,--or loved him with the same satisfied
devotion? There were regrets, regrets that were heavy on his
heart;--for London, and Parliament, and the clubs, and Downing
Street, had become dear to him. He liked to think of himself as he
rode in the park, and was greeted by all those whose greeting was
the most worth having. There were regrets,--sad regrets. But the
girl whom he loved better than the parks and the clubs,--better even
than Westminster and Downing Street, should never know that they had
existed.
These thoughts were running through his mind even while he was
listening to Mr. Monk, as he propounded his theory of doing justice
to Ireland. This might probably be the last great debate in which
Phineas would be able to take a part, and he was determined that he
would do his best in it. He did not intend to speak on this day, if,
as was generally supposed, the House would be adjourned before a
division could be obtained.
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