"Have you heard that Mrs. Frostwinch is on her way home?" Father
Frontford went on.

"No."

"It is said that her faith-healing superstition has failed her, and she
is coming home to die."

"To die?" echoed Maurice.

He recalled Mrs. Frostwinch as he had seen her, gracious, high-bred,
apparently brilliantly well; and it appeared monstrously impossible
that death should be near her. She had seemed a woman who would defy
death, and live on simply by her own splendid will.

"So it is said," the Father assured him. "Do you know how important it
is to us to have her influence in the election?"

"I know that there are certain votes that she may influence, and that
she is in"--he almost said "your," but he caught himself in time--"our
interests."

"There are three and perhaps four votes which depend upon her. Three
are sure to go over to the other side if she is not able to stand
behind them. They are all dependent upon her for support in one way or
another."

"But surely," Maurice suggested, "they would not vote
unconscientiously? They wouldn't sell their convictions for her