But it took him more than three months to come to this
conclusion. He always found the proceedings at Cabinet meetings
particularly hard to follow. The interchange of question and
answer, of proposal and counterproposal, the crowded counsellors,
Mr. Gladstone's subtleties, the abrupt and complicated
resolutions--these things invariably left him confused and
perplexed. After the crucial Cabinet at the end of April, he came
away in a state of uncertainty as to what had occurred; he had to
write to Lord Granville to find out; and by that time, of course,
the Government's decision had been telegraphed to Egypt. Three
weeks later, in the middle of May, he had grown so uneasy that he
felt himself obliged to address a circular letter to the Cabinet
proposing that preparations for a relief expedition should be set
on foot at once. And then he began to understand that nothing
would ever be done until Mr. Gladstone, by some means or other,
had been forced to give his consent. A singular combat followed.
The slippery old man perpetually eluded the cumbrous grasp of his
antagonist. He delayed, he postponed, he raised interminable
difficulties, he prevaricated, he was silent, he disappeared.
Lord Hartington was dauntless. Gradually, inch by inch, he drove
the Prime Minister into a corner. But in the meantime many weeks
had passed.
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