Joe came close to Mrs. Wyndham, her face very pale and her teeth clenched in her great anxiety. Sam threw back the lapels of his coat, put his thumbs in the armholes of his broad waistcoat, and turned his head slightly on one side.
“Well,” he said slowly, “John’s wiped out.”
“Do you mean to say he has lost the election?” cried Mrs. Wyndham.
“Yes–he’s lost it. Jobbins is senator.”
“Sam, you are perfectly horrid!” exclaimed his spouse, in deepest vexation.
Josephine Thorn spoke no word, but turned away and went alone to the window. She was deathly pale, and she trembled from head to foot as she clutched the heavy curtain with her small white fingers.
“Poor Mr. Harrington!” said Sybil thoughtfully. “I am dreadfully sorry.”
Mr. and Mrs. Wyndham and Ronald moved toward the fire where Sybil was sitting. No one spoke for a few seconds. At last Mrs. Wyndham broke out:
“Sam, it’s a perfect shame!” she said. “I think all those people ought to be locked up for bribery. I am certain it was all done by some horrid stealing, or something, now, was not it?”
“I don’t know about that, my dear,” said Sam reflectively. “You see they generally vote fair enough in these things. Well, may be that fellow Ballymolloy has made something out of it. He’s a pretty bad sort of a scamp, any way, I expect. Sorry you are so put out about it, but Jobbins is not so very bad, after all.”