act and all
her courage. She certainly would not have accepted Lady Chiltern's
invitation had she known that she would encounter Phineas Finn at the
house. She had twenty-four hours to think of it, and at one time had
almost made up her mind that some sudden business should recall her
to London. Of course, her motive would be suspected. Of course Lady
Chiltern would connect her departure with the man's arrival. But even
that, bad as it would be, might be preferable to the meeting! What a
fool had she been,--so she accused herself,--in not foreseeing that
such an accident might happen, knowing as she did that Phineas Finn
had reappeared in the political world, and that he and the Chiltern
people had ever been fast friends! As she had thought about it, lying
awake at night, she had told herself that she must certainly be
recalled back to London by business. She would telegraph up to town,
raising a question about any trifle, and on receipt of the answer she
could be off with something of an excuse. The shame of running away
from the man seemed to be a worse evil than the shame of meeting him.
She had in truth done nothing to disgrace herself. In her desire
to save a man whom she had loved from the ruin which she thought
had threatened him, she had--offered him her hand. She had made the
offer, and he had refused it! That was all. No; she would not be
driven to confess to herself that she had ever fled from the face of
man or woman. This man would be again in London, and she could not
always fly. It would be only necessary that she should maintain her
own composure, and the misery of the meeting would pass away after
the first few minutes. One consolation was assured to her. She
thoroughly believed in the man,--feeling certain that he had not
betrayed her, and would not betray her. But now, as the time
for the meeting drew near, as she stood for a moment before the
glass,--pretending to look at herself in order that her maid might
not remark her uneasiness, she found that her courage, great as
it was, hardly sufficed her. She almost plotted some scheme of a
headache, by which she might be enabled not to show herself till
after dinner. "I am so blind that I can hardly see out of my eyes,"
she said to the maid, actually beginning the scheme. The woman
assumed a look of painful solicitude, and declared that "Madame did
not look quite her best." "I suppose I shall shake it off," said
Madame Goesler; and then she descended the