Close behind him there was a ruck of Ministers, with the much-honoured grey-haired old Premier in the midst of them.  There was Mr. Gresham, the Foreign Minister, said to be the greatest orator in Europe, on whose shoulders it was thought that the mantle of Mr. Mildmay would fall,—­to be worn, however, quite otherwise than Mr. Mildmay had worn it.  For Mr. Gresham is a man with no feelings for the past, void of historical association, hardly with memories,—­living altogether for the future which he is anxious to fashion anew out of the vigour of his own brain.  Whereas, with Mr. Mildmay, even his love of reform is an inherited passion for an old-world Liberalism.  And there was with them Mr. Legge Wilson, the brother of a peer, Secretary at War, a great scholar and a polished gentleman, very proud of his position as a Cabinet Minister, but conscious that he has hardly earned it by political work.  And Lord Plinlimmon is with them, the Comptroller of India,—­of all working lords the most jaunty, the most pleasant, and the most popular, very good at taking chairs at dinners, and making becoming speeches at the shortest notice, a man apparently very free and open in his ways of life,—­but cautious enough in truth as to every step, knowing well how hard it is to climb and how easy to fall.  Mr. Mildmay entered the room leaning on Lord Plinlimmon’s arm, and when he made his way up among the armchairs upon the rug before the fire, the others clustered around him with cheering looks and kindly questions.  Then came the Privy Seal, our old friend Lord Brentford, last,—­and I would say least, but that the words of no councillor could go for less in such an assemblage than will those of Sir Marmaduke Morecombe, the Chancellor of the Duchy of Lancaster.

Mr. Mildmay was soon seated in one of the armchairs, while Lord Plinlimmon leaned against the table close at his elbow.  Mr. Gresham stood upright at the corner of the chimney-piece furthest from Mr. Mildmay, and Mr. Palliser at that nearest to him.  The Duke took the armchair close at Mr. Mildmay’s left hand.  Lord Plinlimmon was, as I have said, leaning against the table, but the Lord Chancellor, who was next to him, sat upon it.  Viscount Thrift and Mr. Monk occupied chairs on the further side of the table, near to Mr. Mildmay’s end, and Mr. Legge Wilson placed himself at the head of the table, thus joining them as it were into a body.  The Home Secretary stood before the Lord Chancellor screening him from the fire, and the Chancellor of the Duchy, after waiting for a few minutes as though in doubt, took one of the vacant armchairs.  The young lord from the Colonies stood a little behind the shoulders of his great friend from the Foreign Office; and the Privy Seal, after moving about for a while uneasily, took a chair behind the Chancellor of the Duchy.  One armchair was thus left vacant, but there was no other comer.

“It is not so bad as I thought it would be,” said the Duke, speaking aloud, but nevertheless addressing himself specially to his chief.