The recollection of his wife flashed at this moment through the Canon’s mind, and putting his own sentiments into her meek breast, he flourished the letter and chuckled to himself. “I wish she were alive to see this day.” Lord Wroxham, left fatherless in early boyhood, was head of a family than which there was none in England more ancient and more distinguished. Canon Spratte called a servant. “Will you ask the porter if Lord Wroxham is in the club?” “Yes, sir. I saw him come in half-an-hour ago.” “Ha!” Canon Spratte put a cigarette between his lips and jauntily went to the smoking-room. He caught sight at once of his prospective son-in-law, but made no sign that he observed him. He strolled across the room. “Canon Spratte!” said the young man, rising and turning very red. “Ah, my dear boy,” said the Canon, cordially holding out his hand. “Are you here? I’m delighted to see you. I was just going to write you a note.” Wroxham was a young man of five-and-twenty, slender and of moderate height, with short crisp hair and a small moustache. His eyes were prominent and short-sighted, and he wore gold-rimmed _pince-nez_. His appearance was a little insignificant, but his pleasant, earnest face, if not handsome, was very kindly. He was nervous, and had evidently no great facility in expressing himself. Canon Spratte, aware of his confusion, took his arm and led him to a more secluded place. “Come and sit in the window, dear boy, and tell me what it is you wish to say.” When the Canon desired to be charming, none could excel him. There was such a sympathetic warmth in his manner that, if you were not irritated by a slightly patronizing air, your heart never failed to go out to him. “Have a cigarette,” he said, producing a golden case of considerable value. “Give me a match, there’s a good fellow.” He beamed on the youth, but still Wroxham hesitated. “You got my note, Canon?” “Yes, yes. So charming of you to write to me. I’ve known you so long, dear boy--if there’s anything I can do for you, command me.” Wroxham had often come with Lionel from Eton to spend part of his holidays in the Canon’s hospitable house. “Well, the fact is--I want to ask Winnie to marry me, with your permission.” Canon Spratte restrained the smile of triumph which struggled to gain possession of his mouth. When he answered, his manner was perfectly sympathetic, but somewhat grave as befitted the occasion. “My dear Harry, I will not conceal from you that your sentiments have not been altogether hidden from me. And you will understand that if I had not approved of them I should scarcely have allowed you to come so frequently to my house.” Wroxham smiled, but found nothing very apposite to say.