"No, neither did I," Fanny confessed. "I'm so glad about it."

"He's rather proud of himself, though," chuckled Jimmy.

"Yes, I know. Well, we mustn't be too critical," urged Fanny. His public
demeanour had been beyond reproach, and after all even persons of more
delicate feeling and more exalted position than Quisante are apt to
plume their feathers a little in the family circle.

In the whirl of these last few days there was however little time for
scrutinising the fine shades of manner or speculating on nice points of
conscience. They were all worked to death, they were all inflamed with
enthusiasm and the determination to win. As was only becoming,
Quisante's wife was the most enthusiastic and the most resolute; a thing
not seeming so natural to herself was that she was also happier than she
had ever been since her marriage. As the fight grew hotter, Quisante
grew greater in her eyes; he had less time to make postures, she less
leisure to criticise; if he forgot himself in what he was doing, she
could come near to forgetting the side of him she disliked in an
admiration of the qualities that attracted her. His praises were in
men's mouths beyond Henstead; letters of congratulation came from great
folk, and Quisante was told that his speeches had more than a local
audience and more than a local influence. Sympathy joined with
admiration; he was not only successful, he was brave; for it was a
serious question whether his body and his nerves would last out, and
every night found him utterly exhausted and prostrate. Yet he never
spared himself, he was wherever work was to be done, refused no call,
and surrendered not an inch to his old and hated enemy, the physical
weakness which had always hindered him. May wrote to Miss Quisante that
he was "wonderful, wonderful, wonderful." There she paused, and added
after a moment's thought, "It's something to be his wife." And to Mr.
Foster she said, "They must elect him, they can't help it, can they?"

"Well, I think we shall win now," said old Foster, smiling, but
directing a rather inquisitive glance at her. "Japhet Williams has
helped us; not so much as Sir Winterton himself, though."

May's face fell a little. "I didn't mean that," she said. "Oh, I suppose
I want to win anyhow, but I'd much rather not win through that."

"Must take what we can get," murmured Foster, quite resignedly.

"I suppose so; and it's not as if my husband, or you, or any of his
friends had ta