THE fates always behaved handsomely to Theodore Spratte. He was not surprised when Lady Sophia announced at next day that she meant to spend the afternoon at the Academy. The Canon expressed his regret that he would not enjoy the privilege of her society at tea, but proposed that he and Winnie should have it quite by themselves. Ponsonby received private instructions that no one but Lord Wroxham should be admitted.  
“And after his lordship has been here about five minutes, Ponsonby, I wish you to call me away.”
 
When Canon Spratte gave this order he looked straight into the butler’s eyes to frown down any expression of surprise; but Ponsonby replied without moving a muscle.
 
“Very well, sir.”
 
He turned to leave the room, and as he did so, thinking the Canon could not see, solemnly at the portrait of Josiah, Lord of England. For a moment Canon Spratte thought it must be an optical , for that vast, heavy face remained impassive. Yet he would have sworn that Ponsonby’s right lid slowly with a smooth and stealthiness. The Canon said no word, and when the butler at last disappeared smiled quietly to himself.
 
“Ponsonby is really a very character.”
 
It was not often that Canon Spratte exerted himself when there was none but his family to admire his conversation, but on this occasion he took the greatest pains. No human being is more difficult to entertain than a young girl, and it was a clear proof of his talent that he could charm his own daughter. Winnie was listless and . She still when she thought of the Railings. Their visit had the effect which the Canon intended, and she was ashamed. She had seen Bertram that morning; and, perhaps owing to the night she had passed, his conversation had seemed less inspiring than usual. He was much interested in a strike which was then in Germany, and he bored her a little. One or two of his theories sounded in her ears, and they had a short argument in which he proved to her that her ideas were silly and prejudiced. Once or twice Winnie had caught in his voice almost the same manner which his sister Louise had assumed when she rated Lord Spratte. Winnie left him with a certain feeling of .
 
But the Canon, though he knew nothing of this, took care not to refer to Railing. He drew her into a conversation on the subjects which he knew most interested her. He used every art to flatter and amuse. He told her new stories. He comically the people he had dined with on the previous evening, and such was his gift of she could not help but laugh. His urbanity and worldly wisdom were notorious, and he had been invited to adjust some social difficulty. He now asked her advice on the point, and holding an opinion contrary to hers, allowed her to convince him.
 
“I think there’s a great deal in what you say, Winnie. It’s extraordinary that the most experienced man never catches the point of such matters so as a woman.”
 
Winnie smiled with pleasure, for her father’s commendation was rare enough to be valuable. Forgetting her own troubles, she enlarged upon the topic; and he, making now and then some apposite remark, listened with gratifying attention.
 
“Upon my word, I think you’re quite right,” he said at last, as though completely persuaded. “I shall do exactly as you suggest.”
 
It was not wonderful that Winnie thought him the most remarkable of men. Then he turned to other things. He talked of his own plans and his ambitions. He knew very well that nothing compliments a young woman more than for a man of middle age to discuss with her his dearest ; and Winnie felt that she had entered for the first time into her father’s life.
 
At length Ponsonby announced the expected visitor.
 
“Ah, my dear boy, I’m so pleased to see you,” cried the Canon, springing to his feet with .
 
Wroxham, shyly, hesitating a little, offered his hand to Winnie.
 
“You must think me a dreadful bore,” he said, blushing pleasantly, “I’m always coming.”
 
“Nonsense!” interrupted his host, with great . “We’re always delighted to see you. I want you to look upon the Vicarage as your second home.”
 
Shortly afterwards, according to his orders, Ponsonby appeared again. He in an undertone to the Canon, who at once got up.
 
“I must ask you to excuse me for a few minutes,” he said, turning to Wroxham. “I have a parishioner waiting to see me—a very sad case. A poor woman who lost her husband a little while ago; and she’s looking out for number two, and can’t find him. A clergyman’s time is never his own.”
 
“Oh, pray don’t mind me,” said Wroxham.
 
“I shall be back in five minutes. Don’t go before I see you. Winnie will do her best not to bore you.”
 
He went out. Wroxham stepped forward to Winnie, who was pretending to alter the arrangement of flowers in a vase.
 
“I’m glad your father has left us alone, Winnie,” he said, fixing his pince-nez more firmly. “I so seldom get a chance of speaking to you.”
 
Winnie did not reply but pulled to pieces a marguerite.
 
“What does it come to?” he asked.
 
For a moment, not thinking of the old fancy, she made no answer; but then, remembering, held out the stalk with one remaining , and smiled.
 
“He loves me not.”
 
“It’s not true. He loves you . He always will.”
 
With a sigh Winnie threw away the flower.
 
“Won’t you speak to me, Winnie?”
 
“What do you want me to say?”
 
He took her hand , and looked into her eyes, trying to discover her thoughts, trying from sheer force of his own love, to make her tender.
 
“Oh, , I’m so unhappy,” she murmured at last. “I don’t know what to do.”
 
“Can’t you love me, Winnie?” he asked, drawing her towards him. “Did you mean it when you told me never to hope?”
 
“I said that only a week ago, didn’t I?”
 
“You didn’t mean it?”
 
She tore herself from him almost violently.
 
“Oh, I despise myself.”
 
“But why? Why?”
 
She looked for a long while into his pleasant clear blue eyes, as though she sought to read his very heart.
 
“I wonder if you really care for me?”
 
“I love you with all my being,” he cried, eagerly, finding in his love a new . “You are all I care for in the world. You’re my very life. Ah, yes, I love you with all my heart and soul.”
 
Winnie did not answer immediately, but smiled happily. When she spoke there was in her voice the of tears.
 
“I think I like to hear you say that.”
 
“Ah, Winnie.”
 
He held out his hands appealingly.
 
“I’m so miserable,” she sighed, remembering again the events of the previous days. “I want some one so badly to care for me.”
 
“Why don’t you tell me what’s the matter? I may be able to do something.”
 
“It is kind of you to be nice to me,” she smiled, almost tenderly. “You’re far nicer than I ever thought you.”
 
“Why do you torture me like this?” he cried, passionately. “Winnie, say you love me.”
 
There was a silence. Then with a blush Winnie put her hand on his arm. A new soft look came into her eyes.
 
“Do you remember when I first saw you? You came here with Lionel from Eton. And you were dreadfully shy.”
 
“But we became great friends, didn’t we?”
 
“How angry you used to get when I beat you at tennis.”
 
“Oh, you never did—except when I let you.”
 
“That’s what you always said, but I never believed it.”
 
Wroxham laughed boyishly, feeling on a sudden absurdly happy. He saw that Winnie was yielding, and yet he hardly dared to think his good fortune true.
 
“And do you remember how I used to punt you up and down the river in the holidays?” he said.
 
“How frightened I was when you fell in!”
 
“Oh, you fibber!” he cried, with a smile. “You and roared with laughter!”
 
Winnie, with a little laugh, turned to the sofa. Raising her eyelashes, she looked at Wroxham with the glance that she well knew set him all aflame.
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