Therefore Mary had lighted the drawing- room fire, and Constance had ensconced herself by it, with Fossette in a basket.
Lily Holl had called early, and had been very sympathetic, but rather vague.
The truth was that she was concealing the imminent balloon ascent which Dick Povey, with his instinct for the picturesque, had somehow arranged, in conjunction with a well-known Manchester aeronaut, for the very day of the poll.
That was one of various matters that had to be 'kept from' the old lady.
Lily herself was much perturbed about the balloon ascent.
She had to run off and see Dick before he started, at the Football Ground at Bleakridge, and then she had to live through the hours till she should receive a telegram to the effect that Dick had come down safely or that Dick had broken his leg in coming down, or that Dick was dead.
It was a trying time for Lily.
She had left Constance after a brief visit, with a preoccupied unusual air, saying that as the day was a special day, she should come in again 'if she could.'
And she did not forget to assure Constance that Federation would beyond any question whatever be handsomely beaten at the poll; for this was another matter as to which it was deemed advisable to keep the old lady 'in the dark,' lest the foolish old lady should worry and commit indiscretions.
After that Constance had been forgotten by the world of Bursley, which could pay small heed to sciatical old ladies confined to sofas and firesides.
She was in acute pain, as Mary could see when at intervals she hovered round her.
Assuredly it was one of Constance's bad days, one of those days on which she felt that the tide of life had left her stranded in utter neglect.
The sound of the Bursley Town Silver Prize Band aroused her from her mournful trance of suffering.
Then the high treble of children's voices startled her.
She defied her sciatica, and, grimacing, went to the window.
And at the first glimpse she could see that the Federation Poll was going to be a much more exciting affair than she had imagined.
The great cards swinging from the wagonettes showed her that Federation was at all events still sufficiently alive to make a formidable impression on the eye and the ear.
The Square was transformed by this clamour in favour of Federation; people cheered, and sang also, as the procession wound down the Square.
And she could distinctly catch the tramping, martial syllables,
"Vote, vote, vote."
She was indignant.
The pother, once begun, continued.
Vehicles flashed frequently across the Square, most of them in the crimson livery.
Little knots and processions of excited wayfarers were a recurring feature of the unaccustomed traffic, and the large majority of them flaunted the colours of Federation.
Mary, after some errands of shopping, came upstairs and reported that 'it was simply "Federation" everywhere,' and that Mr. Brindley, a strong Federationist, was 'above a bit above himself'; further, that the interest in the poll was tremendous and universal.
She said there were 'crowds and crowds' round the Town Hall.
Even Mary, generally a little placid and dull, had caught something of the contagious vivacity.
Constance remained at the window till dinner, and after dinner she went to it again.
It was fortunate that she did not think of looking up into the sky when Dick's balloon sailed westwards; she would have guessed instantly that Dick was in that balloon, and her grievances would have been multiplied.
The vast grievance of the Federation scheme weighed on her to the extremity of her power to bear.
She was not a politician; she had no general ideas; she did not see the cosmic movement in large curves.
She was incapable of perceiving the absurdity involved in perpetuating municipal divisions which the growth of the district had rendered artificial, vexatious, and harmful.
She saw nothing but Bursley, and in Bursley nothing but the Square.
She knew nothing except that the people of Bursley, who once shopped in Bursley, now shopped in Hanbridge, and that the Square was a desert infested by cheap-jacks.
And there were actually people who wished to bow the neck to Hanbridge, who were ready to sacrifice the very name of Bursley to the greedy humour of that pushing Chicago!
She could not understand such people.
Did they know that poor Maria Critchlow was in a lunatic asylum because Hanbridge was so grasping?
Ah, poor Maria was al-ready forgotten!
Did they know that, as a further indirect consequence, she, the daughter of Bursley's chief tradesman, was to be thrown out of the house in which she was born?
She wished, bitterly, as she stood there at the window, watching the triumph of Federation, that she had bought the house and shop at the Mericarp sale years ago.
She would have shown them, as owner, what was what!
She forgot that the property which she already owned in Bursley was a continual annoyance to her, and that she was always resolving to sell it at no matter what loss.
She said to herself that she had a vote, and that if she had been 'at all fit to stir out' she would certainly have voted.
She said to herself that it had been her duty to vote.
And then by an illusion of her wrought nerves, tightened minute by minute throughout the day, she began to fancy that her sciatica was easier.
She said: "If only I could go out!"
She might have a cab, of any of the parading vehicles would be glad to take her to the Town Hall, and, perhaps, as a favour, to bring her back again.
But no!
She dared not go out.
She was afraid, really afraid that even the mild Mary might stop her.