CANON SPRATTE was a man of buoyant temper, and did not grieve long over his hopes. After all there were richer Sees than Barchester. With youth and strength still on his side he need not resign himself yet to . Importance lay in the position which a man had the ability to make for himself, and the Vicar of St. Gregory’s might greater power than the of an obscure diocese in the Western provinces. Reconsidering his opinions, he came to the conclusion that Barchester was a dull place, unhealthy, , and tedious. He had always disliked a clay soil. And very soon he sincerely made up his mind that even if it had been offered to him, he would have refused. Like Wilhelm Meister he cried that America was here and now; London offered the only opportunity for such a vigorous character as his. And what were earthly honours to a person of quality?  
He consoled himself for everything with the thought that he had Winnie successfully through the shoals of her . She was now staying in the country with Lady Wroxham, and on her return the pleasing news of her engagement would be delivered to an world. The Canon flattered himself that her foolish passion for Bertram Railing was definitely extinguished. Her letters to Lady Sophia proved that this facile heart was now given in the properest way to Wroxham. She wrote of him freely, with increasing affection, and her enthusiasm found daily new qualities to admire.
 
Meanwhile the fine weather gave admirable opportunity for the Canon’s matutinal rides with Gwendolen Durant. The effect upon his health was all that could be desired. He found her a more girl than he had ever guessed; and his happy charm quickly brought their acquaintance to such a degree of that they might have known one another for ten years. It flattered him to see her flashing glance of pleasure when they met each morning, and he exerted himself to entertain her. Sir John also had taken such a fancy to him that much of the Canon’s time was spent at the ’s gorgeous in Park Lane. His urbanity had never been more nor the scintillations of his wit more brilliant. Gwendolen hung upon his lips.
 
But when Canon Spratte thought of Lionel he was a little disconcerted.
 
On the day Winnie was to come back to London, when he opened his Times at breakfast, the Canon uttered an . Lady Sophia and Lionel looked up with alarm.
 
“A dreadful thing has happened,” he said, solemnly. “Dr. Gray has had an stroke and died last night.”
 
“Poor man,” cried Lady Sophia. “He hasn’t enjoyed his bishopric long.”
 
“I look upon it as a of ,” replied her brother, very gravely.
 
“What on earth do you mean?”
 
“I said at the time he was not fit to go to Barchester. I have no doubt the excitement and the strain of altering all his plans proved too much for him. You see, I was right. When will men learn to put a upon their ambition?”
 
Canon Spratte read the details carefully, shaking his head, and then turned up the leading articles to see if by chance some reference was made to the sad event. But here a new surprise awaited him. He gave a start and another cry. He ran his eyes down the column quickly to gather its , and then it with concentrated attention. He forgot that the Church of England had sustained a grievous loss, and that two lamb cutlets on the plate before him sought to his appetite. The news he examined was of vital importance. The brewers, driven beyond endurance, were in full revolt against the Government. On the previous night Sir John Durant, joining in the debate upon the bill to close certain public-houses, had made a violent speech in the House of Commons. The Government’s position was insecure already, and if the liquor interest withdrew its support, a dissolution was . Sir John Durant became suddenly a person of vast importance. The determination he took might throw the money-markets into confusion; it might alter the political balance of Europe and have far-reaching effects in the uttermost parts of the earth. He had influence with the trade and the other members in the House would follow his lead. He could command a large enough number of votes to make Lord Stonehenge’s of office impossible. It was certain that the country would not return the Conservative party again. Canon Spratte’s heart beat as though he were reading intelligence of the most kind. He threw the paper down and his breath came very fast. For some time he stared straight in front of him and reviewed the situation from every side. He jumped up, and unmindful of his breakfast walked and forwards.
 
“Aren’t you going to eat your chop?” asked Lady Sophia.
 
“Hang my chop,” he cried, impatiently.
 
She raised her .
 
“How is it possible that the news of Dr. Gray’s death can have such an effect on you, Theodore?”
 
“For goodness’ sake be quiet, and let me think,” he answered, without his usual politeness.
 
He had discussed the matter a dozen times with Sir John, and knew with what angry the brewer regarded this new power wherewith it was proposed to invest the Justices of the Peace. He was a stubborn, man, and had persuaded himself that it was an interference with the liberty of trade. On the other hand, he was an enthusiastic Conservative, and had no wish to put a Liberal Government in power, which would probably bring in temperance legislation of a much more drastic order. He was filled with the sentiment and the to his ideal of world . If Sir John could be induced to hear reason, it was probable that he would not insist on the of the bill which public opinion had forced the Government to bring. But if left to himself, he might in a fit of temper throw all his influence with the . Whoever had Durant’s ear on this occasion was for the moment the most powerful man in England. A smile broke on the Canon’s lips. He drew a long breath.
 
“Sophia, I should like to speak a few words to Lionel.”
 
“I’ve just finished,” she said.
 
She did not hurry herself, but when it pleased her left the room. Canon Spratte turned eagerly to his son.
 
“Now, Lionel, I think you’ve shilly-shallied long enough. I want to know for good and all what you propose to do with regard to Gwendolen.”
 
“What do you mean, father?”
 
“Good lord, man, you’re not a perfect fool, are you? We’ve discussed your marriage ad nauseam. I want to know what your intentions are. It’s not fair to the girl to keep her in this fashion. Are you going to marry her or not?”
 
“Well, father, there’s no hurry about it?”
 
“On the contrary there’s the greatest possible hurry.”
 
“Why?”
 
“I have every reason to believe that some one else is thinking of proposing to her.”
 
“Well, I don’t think she cares twopence about me,” answered Lionel, rather sulkily. “Lately when I’ve seen her she’s talked of nothing but you.”
 
“There are less diverting topics of conversation, Lionel,” retorted the Canon, with a smile.
 
“One can have too much of a good thing.”
 
“If you don’t look sharp some one else will step in and cut you out. I warn you .”
 
“I shan’t break my heart, father.”
 
Canon Spratte his shoulders.
 
“I don’t know what the young men of the present day are coming to; they have no spirit and no enterprise. Anyhow, I’ve done my duty and you mustn’t be surprised whatever happens.”
 
“I wonder you don’t marry her yourself,” said Lionel, ironically.
 
“And would you have anything to say against my doing so?” retorted the Canon, not without a suspicion of temper. “Let me tell you that a man of fifty is in the very flower of his age. I flatter myself there are few men of your years who have half the and energy that I have.”
 
He flung out of the room in a huff. His horse had been waiting for half-an-hour, and it was later than usual when he joined Gwendolen in the Park. Her face lit up, and from his own all sign of vexation had vanished.
 
“I’d given you up,” she said. “I thought you weren’t able to come.”
 
“Would you have been disappointed if I hadn’t?”
 
“!”
 
“You make me regret more than ever that I’m not twenty-five,” he said, without any beating about the bush.
 
“Why?”
 
“Because if I were I should ask you to marry me.”
 
“If you were I should probably refuse you,” she smiled.
 
“I wonder what you mean by that?”
 
They walked their horses side by side, and the Canon was seized with an unaccountable shyness. It was by a real effort of will that at last he forced himself to speak.
 
“I suppose it never struck you that I took more than common pleasure in our conversations. But when I left you I was always seized with despair. I realized that my heart had remained as young as ever it was, but you never ceased to see in me a man old enough to be your father. Do you know that I’m fifty?”
 
“I never asked myself what your age was. I never felt that you were any older than I.”
 
She answered , looking straight in front of her. The Canon shot a sidelong glance in her direction and saw that her cheeks were flaming. He recovered his courage at once. Faint heart, he knew, never won fair lady.
 
“Gwendolen, I sometimes think that you have worked a miracle, for by your side I feel as young as the summer morning. What can the years matter when I have the spirit and the strength of a youth! I admire you and I love you. Do you think me very ridiculous?”
 
She shook her head, but did not speak. He put his hand lightly on hers.
 
“Gwendolen, will you be my wife?”
 
She looked up with a little laugh that was almost . She did not answer directly.
 
“I’ll race you to the end,” she said.
 
Without a word, smiling, the Canon put the spurs to his horse; and they up the Row at a speed which was altogether beyond reason. The policeman on his beat watched with mouth the strange spectacle of a young woman and an ecclesiastical dignitary, no longer in his first youth but handsome too, peltering towards the Achilles Statue as fast as they could go. Gwendolen’s horse kept somewhat ahead, but the Canon would not give way. Again he clapped his spurs to the straining flanks. It seemed to him, romantically, that he rode for a great prize, and in his excitement he could have shouted at the top of his voice. They reached the end neck and neck, and when they stopped, panting, the horses were white with . There was no longer a shadow of in the Canon’s breezy manner.
 
“And now for my answer,” he cried, .
 
“What about Lionel?” she smiled, blushing.
 
“Oh, Lionel can go to the dickens.”
 
 
 
Canon Spratte frequently said that he was unaccustomed to let grass grow under his feet. Having left Gwendolen at the door, he returned to the Vicarage, changed his clothes, and promptly took a cab back to Park Lane. But he found that she had been before him, and Sir John Durant was already in possession of the happy news.
 
“Upon my soul, I don’t know what you’ve done to the girl,” he said, in his , tone. “She’s quite infatuated.”
 
The Canon laughed and rubbed his hands.
 
“She’s made me the happiest of men.”
 
Sir John was a man of affairs, whose pride it was that he went straight to the point; and notwithstanding Canon Spratte’s , who sought to the matter airily aside, he insisted on discussing at once the business part of the projected union. It required all the fortunate lover’s self-control to prevent a little of pleased surprise when the brewer in a casual way mentioned the sum he proposed to settle on his only daughter. It was larger even than he had expected.
 
“My dear Durant, your overwhelms me,” he cried. “I promise you I will do my best to make her happy, and I think it’s unlikely that either my brother or Lionel will ever marry. In all probability Gwendolen’s son will inherit the title.”
 
This settled, he turned to the political situation, and discovered that the brewer was somewhat taken aback by the responsibility which appeared to have fallen on him. He was anxious to do his duty by his party, but at the same time could not bear to sacrifice the interests of his trade. He had come to no decision whatever, and showed himself only too pleased to discuss his predicament with a man whose experience was so large, and whose mind so . He insisted that his son-in-law should stay to . During this meal Canon Spratte proved very his skill in social , for he was able to show himself and tender towards Gwendolen, while at the same time he displayed keen sympathy with the brewer’s perplexity. But no sooner was the meal over than he jumped to his feet.
 
“You’re not going already?” cried Sir John.
 
“My dear fellow, I must. I have a very busy day before me.” He smiled tenderly at Gwendolen. “You can imagine that it is not without weighty reasons that I tear myself away.”
 
“Then you must come back to dinner. You know, it’s private members’ night and I’m not going to the House.”
 
“Impossible also! Winnie is returning from the country to-day, and it would be unkind if I did not dine at home. Besides, I have asked my brother. A family is one of the most beautiful as it is one of the most characteristic sights of our English life. I like to allow its influence to be exerted as often as possible on my rather harum-scarum relative.”
 
“Then when shall we see you again?” asked the brewer, firmly grasping his hand.
 
“If it won’t disturb you I should like to come in for half-an-hour about ten o’clock.”
 
As soon as the door was closed behind him, he hailed a passing cab.
 
“I’ll give you a florin if you can get to the Athenæum in three minutes,” he cried to the driver. He looked at his watch. “I think I shall just catch him.”
 
He knew that Lord Stonehenge was in the habit of passing an hour at the Athenæum after luncheon. He sat always in a certain chair, near the window, which by common consent was invariably left vacant for him. No one ventured to disturb him. He went in and out of the club, indifferent to his fellow-members, as if he did not notice that a sou............