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.  Otherwise, she could have sent Mary for a cab.  And supposing that Lily returned, and caught her going out or coming in!  She ought not to go out.  Yet her sciatica was strangely better.  It was folly to think of going out.  Yet ...!  And Lily did not come.  She was rather hurt that Lily had not paid her a second visit.  Lily was neglecting her. ...  She would go out.  It was not four minutes’ walk for her to the Town Hall, and she was better.  And there had been no shower for a long time, and the wind was drying the mud in the roadways.  Yes, she would go.