Phineas, when he was left alone, found himself greatly at a loss as to what he had better do. He had pledged himself to see Mr Kennedy, and was not much afraid of encountering personal violence at the hands of that gentleman. But he could think of nothing which he could with advantage say to Mr Kennedy. He knew that Lady Laura would not return to her husband. Much as she dreaded¹ such exposure as was now threatened, she would not return to Loughlinter to avoid even that. He could not hold out any such hope to Mr Kennedy — and without doing so how could he stop the publication? He thought of getting an injunction from the Vice-Chancellor² — but it was now Sunday, and he had understood that the publication would appear on the morrow, unless stopped by some note from himself. He thought of finding some attorney, and taking him to Mr Kennedy; but he knew that Mr Kennedy would be deterred³ by no attorney. Then he thought of Mr Low. He would see Mr Kennedy first, and then go to Mr Low’s house.

Judd Street runs into the New Road near the great stations of the Midland and Northern Railways, and is a highly respectable street. But it can hardly be called fashionable, as is Piccadilly; or central, as is Charing⁴ Cross; or commercial, as is the neighbourhood of St Paul’s. Men seeking the shelter of an hotel in Judd Street most probably prefer decent and respectable obscurity to other advantages. It was some such feeling, no doubt, joined to the fact that the landlord had originally come from the neighbourhood of Loughlinter, which had taken Mr Kennedy to Macpherson’s Hotel. Phineas, when he called at about three o’clock on Sunday afternoon, was at once informed by Mrs Macpherson that Mr Kennedy was “nae doubt at hame, but was nae willing to see folk on the Saaboth.” Phineas pleaded the extreme necessity of his business, alleging⁵ that Mr Kennedy himself would regard its nature as a sufficient justification⁶ for such Sabbath-breaking — and sent up his card. Then there came down a message to him. Could not Mr Finn

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