When he looked towards home, the figure that loomed
largest upon his vision was-- it was only natural that it should
have been so the nearest-- it was upon Sir Evelyn Baring that he
fixed his gaze. For him, Sir Evelyn Baring was the embodiment of
England-- or rather the embodiment of the English official
classes, of English diplomacy, of the English Government with its
hesitations, its insincerities, its double-faced schemes. Sir
Evelyn Baring, he almost came to think at moments, was the prime
mover, the sole contriver, of the whole Sudan imbroglio.
In this he was wrong; for Sir Evelyn Baring, of course, was an
intermediary, without final responsibility or final power; but
Gordon's profound antipathy, his instinctive distrust, were not
without their justification. He could never forget that first
meeting in Cairo, six years earlier, when the fundamental
hostility between the two men had leapt to the surface. 'When oil
mixes with water,' he said, 'we will mix together.' Sir Evelyn
Baring thought so too; but he did not say so; it was not his way.
When he spoke, he felt no temptation to express everything that
was in his mind. In all he did, he was cautious, measured,
unimpeachably correct. It would be difficult to think of a man
more completely the antithesis of Gordon. His temperament, all in
monochrome, touched in with cold blues and indecisive greys, was
eminently unromantic.
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