MRS. RAILING accepted Canon Spratte’s invitation to bring her daughter to tea. On the day appointed he sat like a Hebrew patriarch surrounded by his family and waited for her to come. He addressed Lionel, his son.  
“You’ll remember that there are two funerals to-morrow morning, won’t you?” he said.
 
“Good gracious, I had completely forgotten all about them.”
 
“I daresay they were persons of no consequence,” remarked Lord Spratte.
 
“As a matter of fact, I believe one of them, poor fellow! was our own fish-monger,” said the Canon, smiling.
 
“I thought the fish had been very inferior these last few days,” murmured Lady Sophia.
 
Ponsonby opened the door stealthily and announced the guests in his most impressive tones.
 
“Mrs. and Miss Railing.”
 
Mrs. Railing, a woman of simple tastes, was unaccustomed to give time or thought to the of her person. She was an excellent creature who had arrived at the sensible conclusion that comfort was more important than appearance; and when she had grown used to a garment, only the repeated of her children could induce her to give it up. Widowhood with her was a question of pride and a passport to respectability. She wore, somewhat on one side, a shabby crape , a black old-fashioned cloak, and loose cotton gloves. She carried with affectionate care, as though it were a jewel of vast price, a gloomy and masculine umbrella. It had a bow on the handle.
 
Canon Spratte advanced very cordially and shook hands with her.
 
“How d’you do. How d’you do, Mrs. Railing.”
 
“Nicely, thank you.” She turned and gave a little wave of the hand toward her offspring. “This is my daughter, Miss Railing.”
 
Miss Railing wore a look and pince-nez, a sailor hat, a white blouse, and a leather belt.
 
“How d’you do,” said Canon Spratte.
 
“Quite well, thank you.”
 
Winnie, having passed the time of day with Mrs. Railing, looked shyly at Bertram’s sister.
 
“You weren’t in the other day when I came to Peckham with your brother.”
 
“I didn’t get home till late.”
 
Miss Railing, suffering from no false shame, looked at Winnie with a somewhat curiosity. She was highly educated and took care to speak the King’s English correctly. She dropped her aitches but seldom. Sometimes she hesitated whether or no to insert the troublesome letter, but when she used it her emphasis made up for an occasional . She was, perhaps, a little self-assertive; and came to St. Gregory’s Vicarage as to an enemy’s camp, to take offence. She was to show that she was a person of culture.
 
“Let me introduce you to my sister, Lady Sophia Spratte,” said the Canon to Mrs. Railing. “Miss Railing, my sister.”
 
“I’m really Miss Louise Railing, you know,” said that young lady, in a slightly injured tone.
 
“I ’ave two daughters, my lord,” explained Mrs. Railing, who felt that some ceremony was needed to address the member of a noble family, “but the elder one, Florrie, ain’t quite right in ’er ’ead. And we ’ad to shut ’er up in an .”
 
The Canon observed her for one moment and shot a rapid glance at Winnie.
 
“It’s so fortunate that you were able to come,” he said. “In the Season one has so many engagements.”
 
But at the harmless remark Miss Railing .
 
“I thought you people in the West End never did anything?”
 
Canon Spratte laughed .
 
“The West End has a bad reputation—in Peckham Rye.”
 
“Well, I don’t know that I can say extra much for the people of Peckham Rye either. There’s no public spirit among them. And yet we do all we can; the Association tries to stir them up. We give meetings every week—but they won’t come to them.”
 
“I wonder at that,” replied the Canon, . “And do you share your brother’s talent for ?”
 
“Oh, I say a few words now and then,” said Miss Railing, modestly.
 
“You should hear ’er talk,” interposed Mrs. Railing, with a significant nod.
 
“Well, I hold with women taking part in everything. I’m a Radical from top to toe.” Miss Railing stared hard at Lady Sophia, who was watching her with polite attention. “I can’t stand the sort of woman who sits at home and does nothing but read novels and go to balls. There’s an immense field for women’s activities. And who thinks now that women are inferior to men?”
 
“Ain’t she wonderful!” ejaculated Mrs. Railing, with unconcealed .
 
“Ma!” protested her daughter.
 
“She says I always praise ’er in front of people,” Mrs. Railing laughed good-humouredly. “But I can’t ’elp it. You should see all the prizes and certificates she’s got. Oh, I am proud of ’er, I can tell you.”
 
“Ma, don’t go on like that always. It makes people think I’m a child.”
 
“Well, Louie, I can’t ’elp it. You’re a and there’s no denying it. Tell ’em about the gold medal you won.”
 
“I wish you would,” said Lord Spratte. “I always respect people with gold medals.”
 
“Go on with you,” cried Miss Railing.
 
“Well, Louie, you are obstinate,” said her mother; and turning to Lady Sophia she added : “She ’as been—ever since she was a child.”
 
But the appearance of the stately Ponsonby with tea-things changed the conversation. Mrs. Railing looked round the room, and the Canon saw that her eyes rested on the magnificent portrait of the first Lord Spratte.
 
“That is my father, the late Lord of England. It is a most admirable .”
 
“It’s a very ’andsome frame,” said Mrs. Railing, anxious to be polite.
 
Lord Spratte burst out laughing.
 
“He is plain, isn’t he?”
 
“Oh, I didn’t mean it like that,” answered Mrs. Railing, with confusion, “I would never take such a liberty.”
 
“Now, you can’t honestly say he was a beauty, Mrs. Railing.”
 
“Thomas, remember he was my father,” inserted the Canon.
 
But Mrs. Railing feared she had wounded her host’s feelings.
 
“Now I come to look at ’im, I don’t think ’e’s so bad looking after all,” she said.
 
His elder son cast a rapid glance at the Lord Chancellor’s smile.
 
“In the family we think he’s the very image of my brother Theodore.”
 
“Well, now you mention it, I do see a likeness,” replied Mrs. Railing, innocently looking from the portrait to Canon Spratte.
 
The Canon shook his head at his brother with smiling menace, and handed the good lady a cup of tea. While she stirred it, she addressed herself to Lady Sophia.
 
“Nice neighbourhood this!” she said.
 
“South Kensington?” answered Lady Sophia. “It’s the least unpleasant of all the suburbs.”
 
“My dear, I cannot allow South Kensington to be called a suburb,” cried the Canon. “It’s the very centre of London.”
 
Lady Sophia smiled coldly.
 
“It always reminds me of the Hamlet who was funny without being vulgar: South Kensington is Bayswater without being funny.”
 
“Peckham’s a nice neighbourhood,” said Mrs. Railing, trying to balance a piece of cake in her saucer. “You get such a nice class of people there.”
 
“So I should think,” replied Lady Sophia.
 
“We’ve got such a pretty little ’ouse near the Gladstone Road. Of course, we ’aven’t got electric light, but we’ve got a lovely bath-room. And Bertie takes a bath every morning.”
 
“Does he, indeed!” exclaimed the Canon.
 
“Yes, and ’e says he can’t do without it: if ’e doesn’t ’ave it, ’e’s uncomfortable all day. Things ’ave changed since I was a girl. Why, nobody thought of ’aving all these baths then. Now, only the other day I was talking to Mr. Smithers, the builder, an’ he said to me: ‘Lor, Mrs. Railing,’ says he, ‘people are getting that , if you build ’em a house without a bath-room they won’t look at it.’ Why, even Louie takes a bath every Saturday night regular.”
 
“They say that cleanliness is next to godliness,” returned Canon Spratte, sententiously.
 
“There’s no denying that, but one ’as to be careful,” said Mrs. Railing. “I’ve known a lot of people who’ve took their death of cold all through ’aving a bath when they wasn’t feeling very well.”
 
Lord Spratte, giving Miss Railing a cup of tea, offered her the sugar.
 
“Thanks,” she said. “No sugar; I think it’s weak.”
 
“What, the tea?” cried the Canon. “I’m so sorry.”
 
“No, to take sugar. I don’t approve of .”
 
“Rough on the hydrocarbons, ain’t it?” murmured Lord Spratte.
 
The Canon with a smile addressed himself again to Mrs. Railing.
 
“And how do you take your tea, dear lady?”
 
“Oh, I don’t pay no attention to all this stuff of Louie’s and Bertie’s,” that good creature replied, a broad fat smile sending her red face into a of little wrinkles. “Sometimes they just about give me the ’ump, I can tell you.”
 
“Ma, do mind what you’re saying,” cried Miss Railing, much shocked at this manner of speaking.
 
“Well, you do, Louie—that is Louise. She don’t like me to call her Louie. She says it’s so common. You know, my lord, my children was christened Bertram and Louise. But we’ve always called ’em Bertie and Louie, and I can’t get out of the ’abit of it now. But, lor’, when your children grow up and get on in the world they want to turn everything upside down. Now what do you think Bertie wants me to do?”
 
“I can’t imagine,” said the Canon.
 
“Well, would you believe it, he wants me to take the pledge.”
 
“Ma!” cried Miss Railing, with whole volumes of reproach in her tone.
 
“Well, look ’ere, my lord,” continued her mother, confidentially. “What I say is, I’m an ’ard-working woman, and what with the work I do, I want my little drop of beer now and then. The Captain—my ’usband, that is—’ad a little bit put by, but I ’ad to work to make both ends meet when I was left a widow, I can tell you. And I’ve given my children a thorough good education.”
 
“You have reason to be proud of them,” replied the Canon, with conviction. “I don’t suppose my little girl has half the knowledge of Miss Louise.”
 
“That’s your fault; that’s because you’ve not educated her properly,” cried Miss Railing, attacking him at once. “I hold with the higher education of women. But there’s no education in the West End. Now, if I had charge of your daughter for six months I could make a different woman of her.”
 
“Ain’t she wonderful!” said Mrs. Railing. “I can listen to ’er talking for hours at a time.”
 
“Except on the subject of teetotalism?” cried the Canon, rubbing his hands .
 
Mrs. Railing threw back her head and shook with laughter.
 
“You’re right there, my lord. What I say is, I’m an ’ard-working woman.”
 
“And you want your little drop of beer, I know, I know,” hastily interrupted the Canon. “I was discussing the matter the other day with the lady who does me the honour to clean out my church, and she expressed herself in the same manner; but she rather favoured spirits, I understand.”
 
“Oh, I never take spirits,” said Mrs. Railing, shaking her head.
 
“What, never?” cried the Canon, with immense gusto.
 
“Well, ’ardly ever,” she answered, beaming.
 
“Capital! Capital!&rdq............