“Make it Lamb—make it Lamb!” urged his neighbour.
Meanwhile both sides applauded. Maiden speeches like this were not common. Lord Faramond turned round to him. Another member made way and Gaston leaned towards the Premier, who nodded and smiled. “Most excellent buffalo!” he said.
“One day we will chain you—to the Treasury Bench.”
Gaston smiled.
“You are thought prudent, sir!”
“Ah! an enemy hath said this.”
Gaston looked towards the Ladies Gallery. Delia’s eyes were on him; Alice was gone.
A half-hour later he stood in the lobby, waiting for Mrs. Gasgoyne, Lady Dargan, and Delia to come. He had had congratulations in the House; he was having them now. Presently some one touched him on the arm.
“Not so bad, Cadet.”
Gaston turned and saw his uncle. They shook hands. “You’ve a gift that way,” Ian Belward continued, “but to what good? Bless you, the pot on the crackling thorns! Don’t you find it all pretty hollow?”