As Japhet proceeded Sir Winterton's handsome face had grown ruddier and
ruddier; when Japhet finished, he sat still through the hubbub, but his
hand twitched and he clutched the elbow of his chair tightly. The
platform collectively looked uncomfortable. The chairman--he was Green,
the linen-draper in High Street--glanced uneasily at Sir Winterton and
then whispered in his ear. Sir Winterton threw a short remark at him,
the chairman shrank back with the appearance of having been snubbed. Sir
Winterton rose slowly to his feet, still very red in the face, still
controlling himself to a calmness of gesture and voice. But all he said
in answer to that most respected and influential townsman Mr. Japhet
Williams was,
"No, I won't."
And down he plumped into his chair again.
Not a word of courtesy, not a word of respect for Japhet's motives, not
even an appeal for trust, not even a simple pledge of his word! A curt
and contemptuous "No, I won't," was all that Sir Winterton's feelings, or
Sir Winterton's sensitiveness, or his temper, or his obstinacy, allowed
him to utter.
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