"The House," he said.
What a pity his mother could not have seen him then!
Perhaps Andrew was prejudiced. Undoubtedly he was in a mood to be easily pleased.
In his opinion at any rate. Lord Randolph's speech that night on the Irish question was the best he ever delivered.
It came on late in the evening, and he stuck to his text like a clergyman. He quoted from Hansard to prove that Mr. Gladstone did not know what he was talking about; he blazed out against the Parnellites till they were called to order. The ironical members who cried "Hear, hear," regretted it.
He had never been wittier, never more convincing, never so magnificently vituperative.
Andrew was lifted out of himself. He jumped in ecstasy to his feet. It was he who led the applause.
He felt that this was a worthy close to a brilliant career.
We oldsters looking on more coolly could have seen where the speech was lacking, so far as Andrew was concerned. It is well known that when a great man, of whom there will be biographers, is to die a violent death, his last utterances are strangely significant, as if he foresaw his end.
There was nothing of this in Lord Randolph's speech.