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 seat. He knew now what had been the meaning of Mr. T. W. Russell's hasty rush from the House towards the Library, and his jubilant return with another scrap of paper. They had detected his blunder, and he was able to estimate what measure of charitable construction it was likely to receive from that quarter.

He was still in possession of the House, and had the next turn of the game in his hands. How should he play it? Either he might at once admit his blunder, make such apology and explanation as was possible, and, at least, forestall the plainly contemplated action of Mr. Chamberlain; or he might go on to the end, take his beating at the hands of the jubilant enemy, and thereafter endeavour to put himself right with the House and the country.

As everyone knows, Mr. Dillon, rightly or wrongly regarded as a matter of tactics, adopted the latter plan. But decision had to be taken as he stood there, the scrap of paper scorching his hand, the necessity of continuing and connecting his sentences imperative, the crowded House looking on. It was about as bad a five minutes as ever fell to the lot of a man actually off the rack, and was gone through with marvellous self-possession.