“You’re making me dreadfully unhappy, papa,” said Winnie. “You’ve never been unkind to me before. Think that all my happiness depends on this. You don’t wish to ruin my whole life.” “Don’t be absurd,” cried Canon Spratte, unmoved by this entreaty. “I refuse to hear anything about it. I cannot make you marry Lord Wroxham. Far be it from me to attempt to force your affections. I confess it’s a great disappointment; however, I accept it as the will of Providence and I shall do my best to bear it. But I’m quite sure it’s not the will of Providence that you should marry Mr. Bertram Railing, and I utterly refuse my consent to his shameful, grotesque proposal. The man’s a scoundrel; he’s nothing better than a fortune-hunter.” “That’s not true, father,” said Winnie, flushing with anger. “Winnie, how dare you say that!” “You’ve got no right to abuse the man I love better than the whole world. Nothing you can say will make me change my mind.” “You’re talking nonsense, and I think you’re a very disobedient and unaffectionate girl.” “After all, it’s my business alone. It’s my happiness that is concerned.” “How selfish you are! You don’t consider my happiness.” “I’ve made up my mind to marry Bertram Railing. I’ve given him my solemn promise.” “Women’s promises are made of pie-crust,” cried Canon Spratte, contemptuously. Lady Sophia raised her eyebrows, but did not speak. “I’m over twenty-one,” retorted Winnie defiantly, for she was not without some temper of her own. “And I’m my own mistress.” “What do you mean by that, Winnie?” “If you won’t give me your consent, I shall marry without.” Canon Spratte was thunderstruck. This was rebellion, and instinctively he felt that nothing could be done with Winnie by direct contradiction. But he was too angry to devise any better way. He walked up and down indignantly. “And this is the return I get for all the affection I have lavished upon my children,” he said, speaking to no one in particular. “I’ve sacrificed myself to their every whim for years--and this is my reward.” Half afraid that he was beaten, Canon Spratte flung himself petulantly in a chair. As with his father before him, outspoken opposition dismayed and perhaps intimidated him; he was unused to it, and when thwarted, could not for a while think how to conduct himself. Through the conservation Lady Sophia had kept very quiet, and her calmness added to the Canon’s irritation. He gave her one or two angry glances, but could hit upon nothing wherewith to vent on her his increasing choler. “And do you know anything about this young man, Winnie?” she asked now. “Has he anything to live on?” Winnie turned to her for comfort, thinking the worst of the struggle was over. “We shall work hard, both of us,” she said. “With what he earns and the little I have from my mother we can live like kings.” “In a flat at West Kensington, I suppose, or in a villa at Hornsey Rise,” said Canon Spratte, with an angry laugh.