“Leslie,” answered the statesman, briefly, “I owe all my success in parliament to this rule,—I have never spoken against my convictions. I intend to abide by it to the last.”
“But if the question at issue comes before the House, you will vote against it?”
“Certainly, I vote as a member of the Cabinet. But since I am not leader and mouthpiece of the party, I retain as an individual the privilege to speak or keep silence.”
“Ah, my dear Mr. Egerton,” exclaimed Randal, “forgive me. But this question, right or wrong, has got such hold of the public mind. So little, if conceded in time, would give content; and it is so clear (if I may judge by the talk I hear everywhere I go) that by refusing all concession, the Government must fall, that I wish—”
“So do I wish,” interrupted Egerton, with a gloomy, impatient sigh,—“so do I wish! But what avails it? If my advice had been taken but three weeks ago—now it is too late—we could have doubled the rock; we refused, we must split upon it.”
This speech was so unlike the discreet and reserved minister, that Randal gathered courage to proceed with an idea that had occurred to his own sagacity. And before I state it, I must add that Egerton had of late shown much more personal kindness to his protege; whether his spirits were broken, or that at last, close and compact as his nature of bronze was, he felt the imperious want to groan aloud in some loving ear, the stern Audley seemed tamed and softened. So Randal went on,
“May I say what I have heard expressed with regard to you and your position—in the streets, in the clubs?”
“Yes, it is in the streets and the clubs that statesmen should go to school. Say on.”
“Well, then, I have heard it made a matter of wonder why you, and one or two others I will not name, do not at once retire from the ministry, and on the avowed ground that you side with the public feeling on this irresistible question.”
“Eh!”