And it was so. Little Grapnel was Conservative. It was mostly a matter
of nomination, and in two weeks Gaston, in a kind of dream, went down to
Westminster, lunched with Lord Faramond, and was introduced to the House.
The Ladies Gallery was full, for the matter was in all the papers, and a
pretty sensation had been worked up one way and another.

That night, after dinner, Gaston rose to make his maiden speech on a bill
dealing with an imminent social question. He was not an amateur. Time
upon time he had addressed gatherings in the North, and had once stood at
the bar of the Canadian Commons to plead the cause of the half-breeds.
He was pale, but firm, and looked striking. His eyes went slowly round
the House, and he began in a low, clear, deliberate voice, which got
attention at once. The first sentence was, however, a surprise to every
one, and not the least to his own party, excepting Lord Faramond. He
disclaimed detailed and accurate knowledge of the subject. He said this
with an honesty which took away the breath of the House. In a quiet,
easy tone he then referred to what had been previously said in the
debate.

The first thing he did was to crumble away with a regretful kind of
superiority the arguments of two Conservative speakers, to the sudden
amusement of the Opposition, who presently cheered him. He looked up as
though a little surprised, waited patiently, and went on. The iconoclasm
proceeded. He had one or two fixed ideas in his mind, simple principles
on social questions of which he had spoken to his leader, and he never
wavered from the sight of them, though he had yet to state them. The
Premier sat, head cocked, with an ironical smile at the cheering, but he
was wondering whether, after all, his man was sure; whether he could
stand this fire, and reverse his engine quite as he intended. One of the