He bent down and gallantly kissed her fingers. It is a gesture which does not come very easily to an Englishman, but Theodore Spratte carried it off with peculiar grace, and afterwards was able to leave the room without awkwardness. He was not the man to omit any of the courtesies due to the fair sex, and turned his steps immediately to a fashionable florist’s, where he ordered a large bunch of red roses to be sent at once to Mrs. Fitzherbert. “Red roses,” he wrote on his card, “because they are lovely, ephemeral, and sweet smelling!” On the way home Canon Spratte meditated upon the bold, decisive step which alone seemed capable of bringing about the ends he had in view. It was easy enough to prevent Winnie from marrying Bertram Railing; her infatuation would pass away as soon as she realized all that it entailed. But this was not enough. He knew that women may be often taken on the rebound, (perhaps his opinion of the sex was none too high,) and if he could excite a repulsion from Railing, he fancied it would lead her into the open arms of the eligible Wroxham. The Canon’s classical knowledge was somewhat rusty, but he believed vaguely there was a quotation which offered apt authority for the circumstances. He could not for the moment recall it. “Dear me!” he said, rather testily, as he put the latchkey into his front door, “my memory is certainly failing,” and ironically: “It’s quite time they made me a bishop.” The Canon wished to lose no time, and consequently was much pleased to find Winnie and Lady Sophia sitting by themselves in the drawing-room. It would have been inhuman to expect him to play the neat little scene without the presence of his sister. The thought of her astonishment was almost a sufficient motive for his audacious step. “You’re very pale, my dear child,” he said to Winnie, “I hope you’re not unwell?” “No, father,” she answered, without a smile. “Then what is troubling you, my love? You’re not yourself.” None could put into his manner such affectionate solicitude as Canon Spratte, and his voice gained such tender accents as to draw confidences from the most unwilling. Winnie sighed, but made no reply. He stroked her hair and pressed her hand. “Come, come, my darling, you mustn’t be unhappy. Nothing shall stand between you and my great affection. The only wish I have is for your welfare. Tell me frankly, is your heart still set on marrying this young man?” Winnie looked up gravely and nodded. “Well, well, I’m not a hard father.” He smiled good-naturedly and opened his arms. “What would you say if I offered to withdraw my opposition?” Winnie, astonished, scarcely believing her ears, sprang to her feet. “Papa, do you mean that?” She flung her arms round his neck and burst into tears. The Canon, pressing her to his bosom, kissed her fair hair. But Lady Sophia was dumfounded.