ONE evening, to his sister’s , Canon Spratte volunteered to accompany Winnie to a party. The Vicar of St. Gregory’s was at his best in smaller , where his personality could more easily make itself felt. He liked an audience; and even one careless pair, more anxious to talk with one another than to hear his words, was apt to disconcert him. When he found himself in a crowd, jostled and pushed, able to speak with but one person at a time, and reduced even then to social commonplace, he quickly grew bored. He could only suffer a multitude when from the safe of the pulpit, the first in place as well as in dignity of machines, he was lifted above the press of mankind. He was assured then of their and protected from their interruption.  
Winnie was very simply dressed. Her pallor was unusual, but in the soft light of shaded electricity she gained a . The pose of her head was a little wearied. The blue eyes were filled with . The Canon thought her beauty had never been seen to greater advantage; and when, alert for all that was , he saw Wroxham coming towards them, he quickly vanished from her side. He smiled as he noticed the singular way in which the young man held his nose in the air. Wroxham was very short-sighted, and his prominent blue eyes had an odd helplessness of expression. Winnie did not see him. She was watching the of dancers, taking a new delight in the gaiety of those many people gathered there in lightness of heart to enjoy the moments. Never before had she found such satisfaction in the magnificence of the ball-room, hung with red roses, nor in the charming dresses of the women. She could not crush a that entered her breast when she thought that all this must be given up, and in sudden contrast she saw the little parlour in Rosebery Gardens. Before her eyes arose the High Street at Peckham with its shops. It was , hideous, and she .
 
Suddenly she heard in her ear a well-known voice.
 
“Winnie!”
 
Her pallor gave way before a blush that made her ten times prettier. She did not answer, but looked at . In his eyes, herself quickened by suffering, she thought there was a new sadness, and a great sympathy filled her. If he lacked good looks he had at all events the face of an old friend. And he was admirably dressed. Discovering for the first time that his clothes had never before attracted her attention, she observed now with what an incomparable ease he bore them. The cruel advice of Lady Sophia to get Bertram a good tailor to her, and she remembered the suggestion that he could not wear a frock coat becomingly.
 
“I wonder if he knows it,” passed through her mind. “Perhaps that’s why he always wears a jacket.”
 
It was an unwelcome thought that Bertram could be influenced by vain notions, and she herself for the pettiness of the suspicion. Wroxham, without fear of and with , could wear any clothes he chose.
 
“I knew I should find you here,” he was saying. “You’re not angry with me for coming? I wanted to see you so badly.”
 
“Good heavens, why should I be angry?” smiled Winnie. “You have just as much right to come as I.”
 
She could not help being flattered by the love which coloured every word he , and her own voice gained a sweeter tenderness.
 
“I can’t keep away from you, Winnie. I didn’t know I loved you so much.”
 
“Oh, don’t, please,” she murmured, “we’ve been friends for ages. It would be absurd if we never saw one another again because—because of the other day. You know I’m always glad to see you.”
 
“I couldn’t take your answer as final. Oh, I don’t want to bother you and make you , but don’t you care for me at all? Don’t you think that after a time you may get to like me?”
 
His touched Winnie so much that it made her answer very difficult.
 
“I told you the other day it was impossible.”
 
“Oh, I know. But then I couldn’t say what I wanted. I couldn’t understand. Like a fool, I thought you cared for me. I loved you so that it seemed impossible I should be nothing to you at all.”
 
“Please don’t say anything more, Harry,” she said, very gently. “It’s kind of you, and I don’t know how to thank you. But I can’t marry you.”
 
Wroxham, with a little motion, set the glasses more firmly on his nose, and looked at her sadly. She smiled.
 
“Won’t you dance with me?” she said.
 
His face lit up as he placed his arm round her waist and they began to waltz. The rhythm of the haunting melody carried Winnie’s soul away. She knew that she was giving great happiness, and it filled her with pleasure. The music stopped, and with a sigh of delight she sank into a chair.
 
“I want to tell you something,” he said presently, with much seriousness. “If ever you change your mind I shall be waiting for you. I can never love any one else. I don’t want you to make any promise or to give me any encouragement. But I shall wait for you. And if ever the time comes that you think you can care for me, you will find me ready and eager to be—your very servant.”
 
“I didn’t know you were so kind,” said she, with tears in her eyes. “I misjudged you, I thought you treated me like a fool. I’m sorry, I want you to be happy. But don’t be wretched because I can’t marry you; I’m not worth troubling about.”
 
He looked at her , divining from her tone that something was troubling her.
 
“Is anything the matter?” he asked.
 
“No, what should be?” she answered, trying to smile, but blushing to the roots of her hair.
 
“You’ve been crying.”
 
“I had a headache. There’s really nothing else.”
 
It was very hard to resist her impulse to confess that she was already engaged. She wished him to know why she had refused him, and wanted his loving sympathy. But at this moment a partner claimed her for the dance that was just beginning.
 
“Good-bye,” she whispered, as she left him. “I shall never forget your kindness.”
 
Wroxham followed her with his eyes, then, puzzled and uncertain, walked towards the door. Canon Spratte did not believe in trusting the affairs of this world to the blind hazard of chance, and it was by no accident that he found himself at this very moment in the young man’s way.
 
“Ah, my dear fellow, I’m delighted to see you,” he said. “What a crowd, isn’t there? I’ve been dying to find some one to smoke a quiet cigarette with me.”
 
Wroxham gave him a smile. He felt at once that cordial glow which Canon Spratte invariably on all with whom he came in contact. They went to the smoking-room. Even if Wroxham had been he would have found it hard to resist the breezy with which the Canon, waiting for no answer, led the way.
 
“Now let us make ourselves at home.”
 
He seated himself in the most comfortable arm-chair, and, for all the world as if he were in his own house, Wroxham to another. In his gracious way he offered the young man a cigarette from their host’s box, and having lit his own, smoked for a while in silence. He was willing to let things take their time, and waited for Wroxham to speak. He set his mind to making a number of admirable smoke rings.
 
“I’ve been talking to Winnie,” said the other at last, gravely.
 
“Well? Well?”
 
“I don’t understand her.”
 
Canon Spratte put his hand impressively on Wroxham’s knee.
 
“My dear fellow, there’s nothing to understand. They say that women are incomprehensible. They’re nothing of the sort. I’ve never met a woman that I couldn’t understand at a glance.”
 
“I fancied she’d been crying,” said Wroxham, shyly.
 
“All women cry when they have nothing better to do. It’s the only inexpensive form of amusement they have.”
 
Wroxham knocked the ash off his cigarette with peculiar care.
 
“I asked her to marry me, Canon Spratte.”
 
“And of course she refused. That was to be expected. No nice girl accepts a man the first time he proposes to her. My dear Harry, the way with women is to insist. Stand no nonsense from them. Treat them kindly, but firmly. Remember that the majority never know their own minds, and between you and me I think the majority haven’t much to know.”
 
The Canon was no . It was one of his cherished convictions that women should be kept in their place, which, with regard to the lords of creation, was chiefly the background. He felt that the attitude which best became them was one of . Like the natural , unspoiled by the of civilization, he considered that man should hunt, fight, and be handsome, while the weaker sex for the privilege of his greatness. He had never imparted these theories to Lady Sophia.
 
“When you want something from a woman insist upon having it,” he added. “Hammer away and in the long run you’ll get it.”
 
“But Winnie is so different from other girls,” replied Wroxham, unconvinced.
 
“Nonsense! Every man thinks the girl he wants to marry different from every other. But she’s nothing of the kind. Women are very much of a muchness, especially the pretty ones. I have no patience with this about the equality of the sexes. It is not only irreligious but vulgar. I lay my faith on the Bible, which tells us that women shall be subject unto man. I’ve never met the woman that I couldn’t turn round my little finger.”
 
He looked at that particular . It was with a handsome ring, on which in all their fraudulence were the arms of his family. His voice rang with scorn.
 
“No, my dear Harry, you have my full approval. And you have my assurance that Winnie cares for you. What more can you want? Hammer away, my dear sir, hammer away. The proper fashion to deal with a woman is to ask her in season and out of season. Propose to her morning, noon, and night. Worry her as a terrier worries a bone. Insist on marrying her. Sooner or later she’ll say yes, and think herself a fool for not having done so before.”
 
“You’re very encouraging,” said the lover, smiling.
 
Canon Spratte’s cheery was , and the force of his seemed to overcome even material obstacles. But when Wroxham considered the affair he was puzzled. He was a youth of only common intelligence. This the Canon had observed with satisfaction, for he knew that nothing is so prejudicial in the world of politics as to excel the average. It did not appear natural that Winnie should refuse him out of virginal coyness, as the hen-bird flies from the nightingale till he has sung his most lays. Her melancholy pointed to something more complex.
 
“You’re very encouraging,” he repeated, but this time with a sigh.
 
“There are few men who have more experience in the management of the sex than I,” returned Canon Spratte, with the air of a Sultan who has conducted with unexampled success a seraglio of more than common dimensions. “Now what do you propose to do?”
 
“I don’t know,” answered Wroxham, somewhat helplessly.
 
“My dear fellow, God helps those who help themselves,” said the Canon, with sharpness. “You want to marry my little girl and I want you to marry her. I know no one to whom I would sooner her, and when a father says that, I can assure you it means a good deal.”
 
“But what can I do?”
 
“Well, well, I see I must help you a little. Come and see us again in a day or two. I’ll drop you a line.”
 
“I don’t want to be a bore,” said Wroxham.
 
“I have reason to believe that you’ll find Winnie in a different state of mind. Keep yourself free to come any day I fix. And now go home and have a good night’s sleep.”
 
Wroxham got up and shook hands. He left the Canon in the smoking-room. The clerical gentleman put down his cigarette and smiled to himself with much self-satisfaction. He sang again softly:
 
“For I’m no sailor bold,
And I’ve never been upon the sea;
And if I fall therein, its a fact I couldn’t swim,
And quickly at the bottom I should be.”
 
He returned to the ball-room , and on his way was so fortunate as to meet Mr. Wilson. This was the journalist of much influence in ecclesiastical circles whose good offices with the press he had already made use of.
 
“Ah, my dear Wilson, it was charming of you to put that little announcement in the paper for me,” he said. “I’m rejoiced to see that Dr. Gray has been given the bishopric.”
 
“I’m afraid the news is premature,” answered the other. “No appointment has been made at all.”
 
“Indeed! You surprise me. It was announced so confidently in the Westminster Gazette.”
 
“Even the newspapers are not infallible,” smiled Mr. Wilson, who knew. “In point of fact, I very much doubt if Gray would accept. He’s fond of the work at Harbin, and I don’t think he much wants to bury himself at Barchester.”
 
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