"Distinct improvement
on friend Toby," whispered one committee-man to another; and this
was the general opinion. Yet there was some anxiety regarding the
address they were about to hear. Denzil did not look like a man who
would mince his words and go half-way in his opinions. The Woman
question was rather a dangerous one in Polterham just now; that
period of Revivalism, and the subsequent campaign of Mrs. Hitchin,
had left a sore feeling in not a few of the townsfolk. An old
gentleman (he had known Denzil as a boy) ventured to speak of this
to the lecturer.
"Don't be afraid, Mr. Toft," was the laughing reply. "You will stand
amazed at my moderation; I am dead against Female Suffrage."
"That is safe, I think. You'll find Mrs. Wade down upon you--but
that doesn't matter."
"Will she attack me in the hall?"
"No, no; we don't have public discussion; but prepare for an assault
to-morrow."
"I shall enjoy it!"
The hall was rapidly filling. Already twice as many people as
attended an ordinary lecture had taken seats, and among them were
numerous faces altogether strange at the Institute, though familiar
enough in the streets of Polterham. Among early arrivals was Mr.
Samuel Quarrier, Denzil's uncle, a white-headed but stalwart figure.
He abominated Radicalism, and was one of the very few "new" men who
supported the old political dynasty of the town.
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