In the course of his brilliant reply he deprecated the popular assumption that in diplomacy we were always left behind, and hinted, as Lord Stockbridge had instructed him to do, at certain secret agreements which, having been of late effected, placed England in an almost invulnerable position. Never during the century, he declared, had Great Britain been on more amicable terms with her neighbours, and never had her position as the first among nations been more secure. Then he went on to speak of the two great tasks Her Majesty’s Ministers had themselves undertaken—the task of drawing all members of this vast Empire, all the dependencies of the crown in every quarter of the world, into a close and more organic unity, and the task of providing adequate defences for this great Empire. He admitted that it was sometimes held abroad that this awakening on our part to the obligations of Empire denoted a new spirit of antagonism in this country towards the legitimate aims and aspirations of European Powers. That was not so. The spirit in which we took up our portion of the task was not one of antagonism, but of generous emulation, with a view to seeing which of the favoured nations of the world could do most in the shortest time to perform the duty owed by them to the countries still oppressed by savagery, barbarism, or imperfect civilisation. That spirit was embodied in a certain secret agreement which he could not, of course, mention. The tasks he had spoken of could not be undertaken by their opponents, who in essential questions were distracted and apathetic. While the Government would foster true Imperialism, they would not neglect social and domestic legislation. The Opposition were living on the ghosts of the past and amid the tombs of dead policies.
As he resumed his seat there was an outburst of applause. The country had long been waiting for some reassuring declaration from the Government, and this, flashed by the wires from the Press Gallery above, would in a few hours have the effect of allaying any public misgivings.
But Chisholm, having performed his duty, gathered up his papers and at once left the House. In the Lobby one or two men congratulated him, but he only smiled that rather melancholy smile they knew so well.
The House of Commons nowadays is not such an austere assembly as it was even a decade ago. True, Members are sometimes called to St. Stephen’s in October and November, and thus have their vacation plans for Cairo or the Riviera considerably disarranged; yet the patriotic M.P. now finds the House the best and cheapest club in London, where he can, if he chooses, live upon ninepenny steaks and drink gin at twopence a glassful! Indeed, nowadays there seems more dining than politics, and more brilliant entertaining than brilliant oratory. There are many distinct coteries in the House, as there must always be among men divided in political opinion, but the coterie of entertainers is quite definite and distinct. Its members are those who have entered upon a Parliamentary career as a gentleman’s due. They are the political drones. They rarely, if ever, speak, but with their many smart lady-guests support the social side of Parliament right royally. Harry Benthall was one of these butterflies among legislators. When he spoke, the subject was usually connected with the personal comfort of Members. Among the boiled-shirt brigade was a man who had sat in the House for thirty years, and had only spoken once—a speech that lasted one minute; while Mr Kinnear, the Parliamentary diarist, has placed it on record that a certain gentleman representing a county division sat in three successive Governments without finding his way to the vote office! The whole life of such men is taken up in hunting for a “pair.” It is one of the first duties he feels he owes to himself and to his friends of the dining-room, or of that latter-day annexe to Mayfair, the Terrace. Indeed, so popular became the Terrace a couple of seasons ago that each afternoon it was crowded by grandes dames and young legislators, and flirting, tea-drinking, and strawberry-eating went on to such an extent that the merrymaking seriously threatened to stop legislation altogether. So that awe-inspiring functionary, the Serjeant-at-Arms, acting quietly but firmly, issued such orders that “at homes” in Parliament were suddenly discontinued, and the daily crush at Westminster became less of a public scandal.
To put it plainly, a new House has grown up. The old austerity of legislation in the days of Palmerston and Beaconsfield has nearly disappeared, and to-day the gentlemen upon whom the right to add M.P. to their name is bestowed, find to their delight that legislation is really very largely an arrangement come to between the two front Benches.
As Chisholm passed through the Lobby, pausing at Mr Pike’s office to obtain some letters, some one cried “Saunderson’s up,” and all the idlers knew that the debate upon another matter had commenced, and that “fun” might be expected.
The Under-Secretary thrust the letters into his pocket, put on his overcoat, and walked back to the Foreign Office, where some documents were awaiting his signature, and where he had some instructions to give his secretary. On his way across Palace Yard and along Parliament Street his eyes were fixed upon the pavement, for he was deep in thought and heedless of all about him. He walked like a man in a dream.
Before long the blow must fall, he told himself. How long would it be deferred? How many days of grace would his secret enemy give him?
Hour after hour had he endeavoured to find some solution of the problem how to repel the threatened vengeance. But there seemed to be no satisfactory way—absolutely none.
A word from him to his chief might save the situation. That would mean open and complete confession. No, he could not confess to the great statesman who had reposed such entire confidence in him, and who had given him the high and responsible office he now held. He could not; he dare not face the wrath of Lord Stockbridge, of all men.