This is one of the curiosities of Parliamentary and
British nature--that the moments of tensest feeling are so often those
which, to a stranger, would appear listless, indifferent, impassive. Mr.
Asquith spoke in tones suitable to the temper of the assembly. This was
a very grave matter, he said; but it was for the moment before the
courts of law, and his lips were sealed. And so the subject dropped.
[Sidenote: Mr. Gladstone.]
The people were asking themselves what would happen, when Mr. Gladstone
entered the House; but if there had been any desire to mark the
occasion, he himself prevented it. He dropped more quietly into his seat
than usual, and at the moment when, to a thin House, Sir William was
giving one of those gentle and beatific answers to which I have already
alluded. To judge by Mr. Gladstone's quietness of entrance, nothing
unusual had happened to him, and he himself had declined even to talk
about the matter. And yet there was a certain look as of reverie on his
face--as though of a man who had looked into that dark and hideous abyss
called Death. He had not been looking very well for some days, and
perhaps there was not--though imagination saw it--a deadlier pallor than
usual on the face.
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