“Upon my word, I had half a mind to. I will never befriend the lower orders again; they always take liberties with you.” At this juncture Winnie came into the room. Canon Spratte told her that he had informed Wroxham of the unfortunate incident. She gave her devoted lover an appealing glance; and the thought that she was so fearful to offend him, increased a thousandfold his passionate tenderness. “You’re not angry with me, dear?” “Because a madman wants to marry you? Why, I want to do that myself.” “Capital! Capital!” laughed the Canon. “But seriously I don’t think he’s quite right in his head. His sister is in a lunatic asylum, you know. I hope you won’t receive any nonsensical letter from him.” Wroxham was all eyes for Winnie, and scarcely listened to the trivial topic. “If I do, it shall go straight into the waste-paper basket,” he answered, lightly. “Quite right,” said the Canon. “Quite right!” He tactfully left the lovers to themselves. XVIII Some days later Lord Spratte found himself dressed half-an-hour too early for the dinner-party to which he was going. He made up his mind to walk down Piccadilly. The evening was delightful, and he looked with amiable eyes upon the populous street. The closing day flooded the scene with gold that seemed flung from divine hands with a gesture large and free. The crowd, sweeping along the pavements, the gay ’buses and the carriages, were bathed in opulent splendour. They looked like magic things, all light and movement, seen by a painter who could work miracles. Lord Spratte congratulated himself that his fellow-men were all very well-to-do and had obviously no concern with sordid details. He braced himself to enjoy the charming world in general, and the festivity before him in particular. “I’m feelin’ younger every day,” he murmured. “By Jupiter, if Theodore don’t mind his p’s and q’s I’ll marry and do him out of the title yet.” So may the fancy of middle age in June turn lightly to amorous undertakings. Suddenly he recognized Bertram Railing, who was walking quickly towards him. They met, and the Socialist, seeing him for the first time, flushed; then he fixed his eyes firmly on Lord Spratte and with much deliberation cut him. The elder man smiled and shrugged his shoulders. He wanted to speak with Bertram, and was entirely indifferent to his obvious disinclination. He turned round and with some trouble caught him up. “Why the dickens do you walk at that rate?” he panted, somewhat out of breath. He took Bertram’s arm familiarly. But the young man stopped and abruptly released himself. “What do you want?” “Merely to have a little chat. Let us stroll in the Park for five minutes.” “I’m sorry, that’s impossible. I have an urgent engagement.” “Nonsense!” Lord Spratte again seized the unwilling arm, and in the most determined way made for the Park gates. “I want to talk to you about your engagement with Winnie. I’m afraid you’ve been very unhappy.”