The wink in any form was hateful to Lorne Murchison, but he had not to encounter it long.
The young man had changed in none of the aspects he presented to his fellow-citizens since the beginning of the campaign.

In the public eye he wore the same virtues as he wore the same clothes; he summed up even a greater measure of success; his popularity was unimpaired.

He went as keenly about the business of life, handling its details with the same capable old drawl.

Only his mother, with the divination of mothers, declared that since the night of the opera house meeting Lorne had been "all worked up." She watched him with furtive anxious looks, was solicitous about his food, expressed relief when she knew him to be safely in bed and asleep.

He himself observed himself with discontent, unable to fathom his extraordinary lapse from self-control on the night of his final address.