Sir Winterton was a great man, no doubt, but at election
times the People also enjoys a transient sense of greatness and of power.
The cheers were less hearty now, the groans more numerous; the audience
felt that, in its own person and in the person of Japhet Williams, it was
being treated with disrespect; already one or two asked, "If he's got a
fair and square answer, why don't he give it?" The superfine sense of
honour, which feels itself wounded by being asked for a denial and soiled
by condescending to give one, is of a texture too delicate for common
appreciation. "No, I won't," said Sir Winterton, red in the face, and the
meeting felt snubbed. Why did he snub them? The meeting began to feel
suspicious. There were no more questions; the proceedings were hurried
through; Sir Winterton drove off, pompous in his anger, red from his hurt
feelings, stiff in his obstinacy. The cheer that followed him had not its
former heartiness.
"I only did my duty," said Japhet to a group who surrounded him.
"That's right, Mr. Williams," he was answered.
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