“Division: clear the gallery. Withdraw.”
“Nonsense; no; it’s quite ridiculous; quite absurd. Some fellow must get up. Send to the Carlton; send to the Reform; send to Brookes’s. Are your men ready? No; are your’s? I am sure I can’t say. What does it mean? Most absurd! Are there many fellows in the library? The smoking-room is quite full. All our men are paired till half-past eleven. It wants five minutes to the halfhour. What do you think of Trenchard’s speech? I don’t care for ourselves; I am sorry for him. Well that is very charitable. Withdraw, withdraw; you must withdraw.”
“Where are you going, Fitztheron?” said a Conservative whipling.
“I must go; I am paired till half-past eleven, and it wants some minutes, and my man is not here.”
“Confound it!”
“How will it go?”
“Gad, I don’t know.”
“Fishy eh?”
“Deuced!” said the under-whip in an under-tone, pale and speaking behind his teeth.
The division bell was still ringing; peers and diplomatists and strangers were turned out; members came rushing in from library and smoking-room; some desperate cabs just arrived in time to land their passengers in the waiting-room. The doors were locked.