"The Dean's tremendously hurt about it; he doesn't say much, but he feels it deeply."
"I'm very sorry. What are the personal considerations?"
"You know Henstead?" It was the borough for which Quisanté sat. "There's an old Wesleyan colony there; several of them are very rich and employ a lot of labour and so on. They've always voted for us. And they've found a lot of the money. They found a lot when Quisanté got in before."
"Yes?" Her voice displayed interest but nothing more. Dick grew rather red and hurried on with his story.
"Well, one of them, old Foster the maltster, came to your husband and—and told him they didn't like the Crusade and that it wouldn't do." He paused, glanced at May for an instant, and ended, "The seat's not safe, you know, and—and it wants money to fight it."
A silence of some few minutes followed. Dick fidgeted with his hat, while May looked out of the window on to the river.
"Why do you come and tell this to me?" she asked presently. "Supposing it was all true, what could I do?"
Dick's resentment got the better of him; he answered hotly, "Well, you might tell him that it was playing it pretty low down on us."
"Have you told him that?"
"Yes, I have, or I shouldn't have come to you. I don't mean I used just those words, but I made my meaning clear enough."