Polling was already in brisk progress when Courtier arrived in Bucklandbury; and partly from a not unnatural interest in the result, partly from a half-unconscious clinging to the chance of catching another glimpse of Barbara, he took his bag to the hotel, determined to stay for the announcement of the poll.

Strolling out into the High Street he began observing the humours of the day.

The bloom of political belief had long been brushed off the wings of one who had so flown the world's winds.

He had seen too much of more vivid colours to be capable now of venerating greatly the dull and dubious tints of blue and yellow.
They left him feeling extremely philosophic.

Yet it was impossible to get away from them, for the very world that day seemed blue and yellow, nor did the third colour of red adopted by both sides afford any clear assurance that either could see virtue in the other; rather, it seemed to symbolize the desire of each to have his enemy's blood.