Eglington was in no mood for temporising. Attack only nerved him. He
was a good and ruthless fighter; and last night's intoxication of success
was still in his brain. He did not temporise. He did not leave a way of
retreat open for the Prime Minister, who would probably wind up the
debate. He fought with skill, but he fought without gloves, and the
House needed gentle handling. He had the gift of effective speech to a
rare degree, and when he liked he could be insinuating and witty, but he
had not genuine humour or good feeling, and the House knew it. In debate
he was biting, resourceful, and unscrupulous. He made the fatal mistake
of thinking that intellect and gifts of fence, followed by a brilliant
peroration, in which he treated the commonplaces of experienced minds as
though they were new discoveries and he was their Columbus, could
accomplish anything. He had never had a political crisis, but one had
come now.
In his reply he first resorted to arguments of high politics, historical,
informative, and, in a sense, commanding; indeed, the House became
restless under what seemed a piece of intellectual dragooning. Signs of
impatience appeared on his own side, and, when he ventured on a solemn
warning about hampering ministers who alone knew the difficulties of
diplomacy and the danger of wounding the susceptibilities of foreign
and friendly countries, the silence was broken by a voice that said
sneeringly, "The kid-glove Government!"
Then he began to lose place with the Chamber.
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