certain inevitability, and would no more have tried to contend with
it than to sweep a shadow off the floor. Gladstone was, and there
was an end of it in her practical philosophy. Nor did she accept
him coldly; like a true woman she sympathised with those who
suffered severely, and they knew it and took counsel of her in the
hour of need. I remember one ardent Gladstonian who, as a general
election drew near, was in sore straits indeed, for he disbelieved
in Home Rule, and yet how could he vote against 'Gladstone's man'?
His distress was so real that it gave him a hang-dog appearance.
He put his case gloomily before her, and until the day of the
election she riddled him with sarcasm; I think he only went to her
because he found a mournful enjoyment in seeing a false Gladstonian
tortured.

It was all such plain-sailing for him, she pointed out; he did not
like this Home Rule, and therefore he must vote against it.

She put it pitiful clear, he replied with a groan.

But she was like another woman to him when he appeared before her
on his way to the polling-booth.

'This is a watery Sabbath to you, I'm thinking,' she said
sympathetically, but without dropping her wires - for Home Rule or
no Home Rule that stocking-foot must be turned before twelve
o'clock.

A watery Sabbath means a doleful day, and 'A watery Sabbath it is,'
he replied with feeling. A silence followed, broken only by the
click of the wires. Now and again he would mutter, 'Ay, well, I'll