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Updated: June 28, 2025
"Exactly!" exclaimed Morewood. "I told you so!" But Lady Richard did not even pretend to understand his exultation or what he meant. Whatever he had happened to mean about poor May, the Dean was not Alexander Quisanté's wife. The course of events gave to the Henstead election an importance which seemed rather adventitious to people not Henstead-born.
"Yes; but I accept the inevitable and contrive to be quite cheerful about it." "We don't do either of those things. Hark, I hear my husband's step." Quisanté ran quickly up the stairs and burst into the room. His face was alight with animation, and before greeting Marchmont he cried, "I've carried it, I've brought them round. We attack all along the line, and I open the ball at Henstead next week!
Had May seen him then, she would have known the look, and hoped and feared. But she was sleeping, and none asked Quisanté what was in his mind that night. Up to the present time all had gone most smoothly at Moors End, the Mildmays' old manor-house, eight miles from Henstead, and Lady Mildmay had confided many quiet self-congratulations to Mrs. Baxter's ear.
Letters came in great numbers, from political followers, from women prominent in society, from constituents, from old Foster and Japhet Williams at Henstead, even from puissant Lady Castlefort; they wondered, applauded, implored, flattered, in every key of that sweet instrument called praise. Quisanté read them out, pluming and preening his feathers, strutting about, crowing.
Rooms were taken at the Bull in Henstead, an election agent appointed, resources calculated this involved a visit to Aunt Maria and matters got into fighting trim. He talked very freely to her always about his political views, and now he consulted her on the very important question of his Election Address. Space was limited, needs difficult to foresee, climate very uncertain.
When his fresh step began to be understood, when Lady Mildmay came with him no more, and it dawned upon Henstead that Sir Winterton would not bring her, the very supporters felt themselves offended. Were a few ribald cries and the folly of a wrong-headed old Japhet Williams to outweigh all their loyalty and devotion? Was the town to be judged by its rowdies?
Unhappily however, as events proved, the victory of Henstead had in the end to be regarded not as the inauguration of a triumphant campaign but as a brilliant exploit performed in face of an overwhelming enemy. To be brief, the Government was beaten, somewhat badly beaten, the great cry was a failure, and there were many casualties in the ranks.
We're going to put up Dick Benyon." "He's safe enough, he won't worry you," said Lady Castlefort. "You'll have to fight Henstead before long, all the same. The man'll die, you know." "Think so?" asked Constantine uneasily. "And he will be a loss a loss to us, whatever one may think about the country." Constantine looked troubled.
Moreover he had no opportunity, for Miss Quisanté did not come to Henstead; her explanation showed the mixture of malice and devotion which was her usual attitude towards Sandro. "I'd give my ears to come," she had told May, "to see the fun and hear Sandro. But I'm old and ugly and scrubby, and Sandro won't want me. I'm not a swell like you and your sister. I should do him harm, not good.
His praises were in men's mouths beyond Henstead; letters of congratulation came from great folk, and Quisanté was told that his speeches had more than a local audience and more than a local influence.
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