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 hearty, boisterous 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 remonstrance, who sought to waive 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 gasp 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 generosity 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 eldest son will inherit the title.” This settled, he turned deftly 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 lucid. He insisted that his prospective son-in-law should stay to luncheon. During this meal Canon Spratte proved very neatly his skill in social intercourse, for he was able to show himself gallant 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 Christian 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 mellowing 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.”