derson 6, Branscombe 5, Gladstone 4,
Chamberlain 4.

"Smaller streets--Churchill 14, Branscombe 13, Gladstone 9, Langtry 9.
Totals for to-day: Churchill 35, Langtry 28, Gladstone 23, Branscombe
42, Anderson 12, Chamberlain nowhere." Then followed, as if in a burst
of passion, "Branscombe still leading--confound her."

Andrew saw that Lord Randolph had been calculating fame from vesta
boxes.

For a moment this discovery sent Andrew's mind wandering. Miss
Branscombe's photographs obstructed the traffic. Should not this be
put a stop to? Ah, but she was a woman!

This recalled him to himself. Lord Randolph had departed, probably for
St. Stephen's.

Andrew jumped into a hansom. He felt like an exotic in a glass frame.

"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.

The House was thinning when the noble lord rose to go. Andrew joined
him at the gate.

The Scotchman's nervous elation had all gone. A momentary thrill
passed through his veins as he remembered that in all probability they
would never be together again. After that he was quite calm.

The night was black.

The rain had ceased, but for an occasional drop shaken out of a
shivering star.

But for a few cabs rolling off with politicians, Whitehall was deserted.

The very tax-collectors seemed to have got to bed.

Lord Randolp