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She walked to the hearth and stood there, facing her visitor. "Now, Dick,
what is it?" she asked.
"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 Quisante 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 Quisante 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.


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