“Because, sir, I wouldn’t for the world you should think I was mixed up with them; and if my husband doesn’t vote for you my name isn’t Sweeting.”
“I am much obliged to you. I see your motives: you are straightforward and I respect you.”
Mrs. Sweeting thanked him and departed. His first feeling was wrath. Never was there a man less likely to be cowed. He put on his hat and walked to his committee-room, where he found Mr. Bingham.
“No doubt, I suppose, Mr. Bingham?”
“Don’t know, Doctor; the Radicals have got a strong candidate in Jem Casey. Some of our people will turn, I’m afraid, and split their votes.”
“Split votes! with a fellow like that! How can there be any splitting between an honest man and a rascal?”
“There shouldn’t be, sir, but—” Mr. Bingham hesitated—“I suppose there may be personal considerations.”
“Personal considerations! what do you mean? Let us have no more of these Langborough tricks. Out with it, Bingham! Who are the persons and what are the considerations?”
“I really can’t say, Doctor, but perhaps you may not be as popular as you were. You’ve—” but Mr. Bingham’s strength again completely failed him, and he took a sudden turn—“You’ve taken a decided line lately at several of our meetings.”
The Doctor looked steadily at Mr. Bingham, who felt that every corner of his pitiful soul was visible.