THE fates always behaved handsomely to Theodore Spratte. He was not
surprised when Lady Sophia announced at luncheon 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 cosily 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 winked at the portrait of Josiah, Lord Chancellor of
England. For a moment Canon Spratte thought it must be an optical
delusion, for that vast, heavy face remained impassive. Yet he would
have sworn that Ponsonby’s right lid descended slowly with a smooth and
wary stealthiness. The Canon said no word, and when the butler at last
disappeared smiled quietly to himself.
“Ponsonby is really a very remarkable 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 depressed. She shuddered still
when she thought of the Railings. Their visit had precisely the effect
which the Canon intended, and she was ashamed. She had seen Bertram that
morning; and, perhaps owing to the sleepless night she had passed, his
conversation had seemed less inspiring than usual. He was much
interested in a strike which was then proceeding in Germany, and he
bored her a little. One or two of his Radical theories sounded
preposterous 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 dictatorial manner which
his sister Louise had assumed when she rated Lord Spratte. Winnie left
him with a certain feeling of irritation.
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 ridiculed comically the people he had dined with on the
previous evening, and such was his gift of mimicry 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 apparently 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 accurately 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
aspirations; and Winnie felt that she had entered for the first time
thoroughly 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 agility.
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 heartiness. “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
spoke 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 petal, and
smiled.
“He loves me not.”
“It’s not true. He loves you passionately. 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 kindly, and looked into her eyes, trying to discover
her thoughts, trying from sheer force of his own love, to make her
tender.
“Oh, Harry, 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 utterly 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 ardent
love a new eloquence. “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 tremor 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 joyful smile. “You shrieked 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.
“I’m so tired,” she murmured.
She sat down, and he, sitting beside her, took her hand. She made no
effort to withdraw it.
“What lovely days those were!” she said. “But we used to quarrel
dreadfully, usen’t we?”
“Only for the pleasure of making it up.”
“Do you think so? You used to make me jealous by talking to other little
girls.”
“Oh, never!” he cried, shaking his head, firmly. “It was always you. You
were so awfully flirtatious.”
Winnie smiled and looked down at his hand. It held hers as though it
would never again let it go.
“I wonder when you first began to like me?” she asked.
“I’ve never liked you. I’ve always loved you, passionately.”
“Always? Even when I wore a pig-tail and square-toed boots?”
“Always! And I always shall,” he cried, boldly putting his arm round her
waist. She leaned against it as though it were a comforting support.
“And I can’t live without you.”
“Are you sure?”
“You didn’t mean it when you said you couldn’t love me?” he murmured,
vehemently.
She looked straight into his eyes for a moment, smiling, and slightly
bent towards him.
“I don’t know,” she whispered.
“My dearest!”
Quickly, eagerly, he took her in his arms and kissed her lips.
“Say you’ll marry me, Winnie?”
“I’ll do anything to make you happy.”
“Kiss me. I love you.”
Blushing, she put her lips to his, and the soft pressure made him
tremble with delight. He seized her hands and kissed them in passionate
gratitude, repeatedly. For a while they sat in silence. Winnie, all
confused, was trying to realize what she had done; but Wroxham was
overwhelmed with joy.
Then the Canon’s voice was heard on the stairs, singing to himself; and
Winnie quickly tore herself from her lover.
“_La donna è mobile_,” sang the Canon, coming in; “Tra-la-la-la-la
Tra-la-la-la-la.” He started when he saw the young couple sitting
self-consciously in opposite corners of the sofa. “Hulloa, I thought you
must have gone! I was detained longer than I expected.”
“May I tell him?” asked Wroxham.
“Yes!”
“Canon Spratte, I want to tell you that Winnie has just promised to be
my wife.”
“What!” cried the Canon. “Capital! Capital! My dear fellow, I’m
delighted to hear it. You know I couldn’t have wanted a better
son-in-law. My dear child!”
He opened his arms and Winnie hid her face on his bosom. He kissed her
affectionately, and then with sincere warmth shook hands with Wroxham.
“All’s well that ends well,” he cried. “I knew she was devoted to you,
my boy. Trust me for knowing a woman’s character.”
“Papa’s wonderful,” said Winnie, with a laugh, stretching out her hand
to Wroxham.
“You’ve made me very happy,” he said.
They discussed the situation for some time, and Canon Spratte was very
bland. His wildest hopes had never led him to expect that Winnie would
throw herself there and then into Wroxham’s eligible arms; but an
occasional glance, partly of amusement, was his only sign of surprise.
The young man, promising to return for dinner, went away at last, and
Theodore looked at his daughter for an explanation. She stood near a
table, and began nervously to turn over the pages of a book. A smile
broke on the Canon’s lips, for her embarrassment told him all he wished
to know.
“Would it be indiscreet to inquire when you broke off your engagement
with Mr. Railing?” he asked.
Winnie looked up.
“I haven’t broken it off.”
“And do you intend to marry them both?”
She quickly closed the book and went up to him.
“Oh, papa, you must help me,” she cried. “I’m simply distracted and I
don’t know what to do.”
“But which of them do you propose to marry?”
“Oh, don’t be unkind, father. Except for you I should never have met
that man. I hate him. I’m ashamed that he ever kissed me.”
“Which, my love?” he asked, as though quite perplexed. “I have every
reason to believe that both embraced you.”
“Papa!”
There was a pause. The Canon felt that he would be wanting in his
paternal duties if he took again to his bosom a prodigal daughter
without pointing out clearly the nature of her misdeeds. Some reproof,
tender but dignified, gentle but explicit, was surely needed. The child
had flatly disobeyed his commands.
“Do I understand that the fact that Mrs. Railing drops her aitches and
drinks gin, while her daughter is bumptious and vulgar, has had any
effect upon your attachment to Mr. Bertram Railing?”
“You asked them to come here, you knew what would happen,” answered
Winnie, flushing. “Oh, father, don’t be cruel. I made a fool of myself.
He took me unawares and I thought for a moment that I could live his
life. But I’m frightened of him.”
He said, gravely: “Which do you honestly prefer?”
For a moment she hesitated, then with a little sob replied:
“I love them both.”
“I beg your pardon!” exclaimed her father, who did not in the least
await such an answer.
“When I’m with one I think he’s so much nicer than the other.”
“Really, Winnie, you can’t shilly-shally in this way,” he said,
considerably annoyed. “You’ve just told me you couldn’t bear young
Railing.”
“I can’t help it, father. When I see him I’m simply carried away.
Bertram’s a hero.”
“Fiddlededee! He’s a journalist.”
“When I’m with him I’m filled with high and noble thoughts. My heart
seems to grow larger so that I could throw myself at his feet. I’m not
fit to be his handmaid. But I can’t live up to his ideal. I have to pose
all the time, and I say things I don’t mean so that he may think well of
me. Sometimes I’m afraid of him; I wonder what he’d say if he knew what
I honestly was. He doesn’t really love me, he thinks I’m full of faults.
He loves his ideal and the woman I may become. He makes me feel so
insignificant and so unworthy.”
“And Wroxham?”
Winnie smiled happily.
“Oh, Harry’s different; he loves me for myself. I can be quite natural
with him, and I needn’t pretend to be any better than I am. He doesn’t
think I have any faults and he doesn’t want me any different from what I
am. With Bertram I have to walk on stilts, but with Harry I can just
dawdle along at my own pace, and he’ll be only too glad to wait for me.”
“Really, Winnie, I don’t think it’s quite nice for a girl of your age to
analyze her feelings in this way,” said the Canon, irritably. “I hate
people who can’t make up their minds. That is one of the few things upon
which I feel justified in priding myself, that I do know my own mind.”
“You will get me out of the scrape, father?”
The Canon quickly drove away all appearance of vexation, for it was
evident that his daughter still required very careful handling. He took
her hand and patted it affectionately.
“You see, your poor old father is still some use after all. What do you
wish me to do, my child?”
“Bertram is coming here the day after to-morrow. I want you to tell him
it’s all a mistake and I can’t marry him.”
“He won’t take it from me.”
“Oh, he must. I daren’t see him again, I should be too ashamed. But be
kind to him, father. I don’t want him to be unhappy.”
“You need not worry yourself about that, my darling. If there’s any man
who can deal diplomatically with such matters I may say, without vanity,
that it is I.” He paused and looked at Winnie sharply. “But mind, there
must be no drawing back this time, or else I leave you to get out of the
muddle as best you can. Have I your full authority to tell Sophia that
you’re going to marry Wroxham?”
“Yes.”
The Canon took her in his arms.
“Kiss me, my darling. I feel sure that you will be a credit to your
father and an honour to your family.”