The world at this time was altogether busy with political rumours; and it was supposed that Sir Timothy Beeswax would do something very clever.  It was supposed also that he would sever himself from some of his present companions.  On that point everybody was agreed,—­and on that point only everybody was right.  Lord Drummond, who was the titular Prime Minister, and Sir Timothy, had, during a considerable part of the last session, and through the whole vacation, so belarded each other with praise in their public expressions that it was quite manifest that they had quarrelled.  When any body of statesmen make public asseverations by one or various voices, that there is no discord among them, not a dissentient voice on any subject, people are apt to suppose that they cannot hang together much longer.  It is the man who has not peace at home declares abroad that his wife is an angel.  He who lives on comfortable terms with the partner of his troubles can afford to acknowledge the ordinary rubs of life.  Old Mr Mildmay, who was Prime Minister for so many years, and whom his party worshipped, used to say that he had never found a gentleman who had quite agreed with him all round; but Sir Timothy has always been in exact accord with all his colleagues,—­till he has left them, or they him.  Never had there been such concord as of late,—­ and men, clubs, and newspapers now protested that as a natural consequence there would soon be a break-up.

But not on that account would it perhaps be necessary that Sir Timothy should resign,—­or not necessary that his resignation should be permanent.  The Conservative majority had dwindled,—­but still there was a majority.  It certainly was the case that Lord Drummond could not get on without Sir Timothy.  But might it not be possible that Sir Timothy should get on without Lord Drummond?  If so he must begin his action in that direction by resigning.  He would have to place his resignation, no doubt with infinite regret, in the hands of Lord Drummond.  But if such a step were to be taken now, just as Parliament was about to assemble, what would become of the Queen’s speech, of the address, and of the noble peers and noble and other commoners who were to propose and second it in the two Houses of Parliament?  There were those who said that such a trick played at the last moment would be very shabby.  But then again there were those who foresaw that the shabbiness would be made to rest anywhere than on the shoulders of Sir Timothy.  If it should turn out that he had striven manfully to make things run smoothly,—­that the Premier’s incompetence, or the Chancellor’s obstinacy, or this or that Secretary’s peculiarity of temper had done it all;—­might not Sir Timothy then be able to emerge from the confused flood, and swim along pleasantly with his head higher than ever above the waters?