Should she say that he would not tell anything to the House of Commons for many days, probably not ever, that his voice would not be heard there? They would not believe her, she hardly would believe herself. In that hour illness and retirement seemed dim and distant, unreal and a little ludicrous. She abandoned herself to the temptation pressed upon her and talked as though her husband were to lead all through the campaign that he had opened.
"I never saw him looking better in my life," said Foster.
As he spoke a short thick-set man with grey hair pushed by him. Old Foster caught him by the wrist, crying with a laugh, "Why, Doctor, what are you doing here? You're one of the enemy!"
"I came to hear the speech."
"A good'un, eh?"
"Never mind the speech. Take me over to Mr. Quisante--now, directly."
"What for?"
"He must go home."
"Go home? Nonsense. He's all right."
Dr. Tillman wrenched his hand away, shook his head scornfully, and started across the room toward where Quisante was. May laid her hand on old Foster's arm.
"What did he say? Does he think my husband ill?"
"I don't know. It's all nonsense."
Another voice broke in.
"A triumph, Lady May, a triumph indeed!"
She turned to find the Dean and Marchmont close behind her, and the Dean holding out his hand as he spoke.
"Yes, yes," she said hurriedly and uncomfortably. "It was fine, wasn't it?"
"It was magnificent," said Marchmont.
"Thanks, thanks." Her tone was still hurried, absent, ungracious. The two looked at her in surprise. Where was the radiance of triumph that had lit up her face as she signalled to them from the platform? They had expected to find her full of the speech and had been prepared to give her joy by the warmth and sincerity of their praise.
"What's the matter?" whispered Marchmont.
"Do you see that short man, the one with grey hair, trying to get near Alexander It's the doctor--Dr. Tillman. He can't get near Alexander."
"What does he want?"
"I don't know. He thinks he ought to go home. He thinks--Ah, now he's getting to him! Look! He's speaking to him now!"
They saw the doctor come up to Quisante and Quisante smile as he waited for the visitor to introduce himself. The doctor began to speak quickly and energetically. "Oh, thank you very much, but I'm all right," came suddenly in loud clear tones from Quisante. The doctor spoke again.
Quisante shook his head, laughing merrily. Marchmont looked at May; her eyes were on her husband and they were full of fear. "I'd forgotten," he heard her murmur. She turned to him with an imploring air. "He won't listen," she said.
A burst of laughter came from Quisante's group; he had made some joke and they all applauded him. Tillman stood for a moment longer before him, then gave a queer jerk of his head, and turned sharp round on his heel.
He came back towards where she stood. She took a step forward and thus crossed his path, Marchmont and the Dean standing on either side of her.
"You remember me, Dr. Tillman?" she asked. "I'm Mr. Quisante's wife, you know."
He stood still, looking at her angrily from under his bushy eyebrows.
"Take him home then," he said sharply. "It was madness to let him come here at all. You're flying in the face of the advice you've had. Oh, I know about it. Let me tell you, you're very lucky to have got through so far."
"We--we're through all right now," she said.
"Are you? I hope so. The man's in a high state of excitement now, and high states of excitement aren't good for him." He paused and added impatiently, "Have you no influence over him? Can none of you do anything with him?"
"He won't like it if I go to him," May whispered.
"I'll go," said the Dean, stepping forward.
"Yes," said Tillman, "go and tell him Lady May Quisante wants him."
The Dean started off on his errand. The doctor's manner grew a little gentler.
"You couldn't be expected to know," he said. "But in a thing like this you mustn't think he's all right because he looks all right. He'll look his best just at the time when there's most--well, when he isn't. I hope he's going to keep quiet after this?"
"Yes, yes. At least we've arranged that. Weston, do go and bring him to me."
"Look, he's coming now with the Dean."
Quisante's group opened, and he began to move towards them. But at every step somebody stopped him, to shake hands and to say a few words of thanks or praise. The Dean kept urging him on gently, but he would not be hurried.
"Now take him straight home," said Tillman. "Good-night." And hardly waiting for May's bow he turned away and disappeared among the throng that was making for the door.
Quisante, at last escaping from his admirers, came up to his wife. His eyes were very bright, and he ran to her, holding out both his hands. She put hers in his and said, "We must go home. You'll be worn out."
"Worn out? Not I! But you look worn out. Come along. Ah, Marchmont, this is a compliment indeed."
They were almost alone in the room now. May took her husband's arm and they walked thus together.
"Are you pleased?" he whispered.
"Am I pleased!" she said with the laugh he knew and an upward glance of her eyes. Quisante himself laughed and drew himself to his full height, carrying his head defiantly. For though he sought and loved to please all, it was pleasing her that had been foremost in his mind that night.
He had remembered the boast he made on Duty Hill; now it was justified, and he had once again tasted his sweetest pleasure.
They had to wait in an ante-room while their carriage was sent for. Here the Dean and Marchmont joined them again. They were there when old Foster rushed in in great excitement.
"The whole town's in the square," he cried. "There's never been anything like it in Henstead. You'll say just a word to them from the steps, sir?
Only a word! They're all waiting there for you. You'll say just a word?
I'll be back in an instant." And he bustled out again.
Quisante walked across to a window that opened on to the Market Square.
He looked out, then turned and beckoned to his wife. The whole town seemed to be in the square, as Foster said, and the people caught sight of him as he stood in the window with the lighted room behind him. They broke into loud cheering. Quisante bowed to them. Then a sudden short shiver seemed to run through him; he put his hand first to his side, then to his head.
"I feel queer" he said to his wife. "I think I--I won't--I won't speak any more. I feel so--so queer." Her eyes were fixed on him now, and his on hers. He smiled and tapped his forehead lightly with his hand. "It's nothing," he said. "You were pleased, weren't you, to-night?" Again he put his hands in hers. She found no word to say and they stood like this for a moment. The cheers ceased, the crowd outside was puzzled. Marchmont jumped up from his chair and walked forward hastily.