"No."
"It is said that her faith-healing superstition has failed her, and she is coming home to die."
"To die?" echoed Maurice.
He recalled Mrs. Frostwinch as he had seen her, gracious, high-bred, apparently brilliantly well; and it appeared monstrously impossible that death should be near her. She had seemed a woman who would defy death, and live on simply by her own splendid will.
"So it is said," the Father assured him. "Do you know how important it is to us to have her influence in the election?"
"I know that there are certain votes that she may influence, and that she is in"—he almost said "your," but he caught himself in time—"our interests."
"There are three and perhaps four votes which depend upon her. Three are sure to go over to the other side if she is not able to stand behind them. They are all dependent upon her for support in one way or another."
"But surely," Maurice suggested, "they would not vote unconscientiously? They wouldn't sell their convictions for her support?"
"They would not vote unconscientiously," was the dry response, "but they believe that the support which she gives to them and to their missions is of more importance than that the man they really prefer should be chosen."
"But what can be done?"