The great night came, and a great crowd in the Corn Exchange. Old Foster
was in the chair and the place seemed full of familiar faces; the butcher
who was troubled about slaughter-houses sat side by side with the man who
was uneasy about his deceased wife's sister; Japhet Williams was on the
platform and his men sat in close ranks at the back of the hall, they and
Dunn's contingent hard-by smoking their pipes as the custom was at
Henstead. There were other faces, not so usual; for far away, in a
purposely chosen obscurity, May saw Weston Marchmont and the Dean of St.
Neot's. The Mildmays themselves could not be present, but these two had
come over from Moors End and sat there now, the Dean beaming in
anticipation of a treat, Marchmont with a rather supercilious smile and
an air of weariness. May could not catch their eyes but she felt glad to
have them there; it was always pleasant to her that her friends should
see Quisante when he was at his best, and he was going to be at his best
to-night.
"We are rejoiced to welcome our Member back among us in good health and
strength again," old Foster began, quite in the Aunt Maria style, and he
went on to describe the grief caused by Quisante's illness and the joy
now felt at the prospect of his being able to render services to his
Queen, his country, and his constituency no less long than valuable and
brilliant.
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