When they were all three in the carriage on their way home, Canon Spratte turned to his son. “Well, did you take my advice?” he asked. “I didn’t have a chance,” said Lionel, discontentedly. “Good Lord! You’re not half the man your father is.” The Canon chuckled and rubbed his hands. He asked Winnie’s permission to light a cigar, and put up his feet comfortably on the opposite seat. “I’ve had a very charming evening. Upon my soul, it’s wonderful what good it does a hard-working man to have a little innocent enjoyment.” XII Mrs. Railing accepted Canon Spratte’s invitation to bring her daughter to tea. On the day appointed he sat like a Hebrew patriarch surrounded by his family and waited for her to come. He addressed Lionel, his son. “You’ll remember that there are two funerals to-morrow morning, won’t you?” he said. “Good gracious, I had completely forgotten all about them.” “I daresay they were persons of no consequence,” remarked Lord Spratte. “As a matter of fact, I believe one of them, poor fellow! was our own fish-monger,” said the Canon, smiling. “I thought the fish had been very inferior these last few days,” murmured Lady Sophia. Ponsonby opened the door stealthily and announced the guests in his most impressive tones. “Mrs. and Miss Railing.” Mrs. Railing, a woman of simple tastes, was unaccustomed to give time or thought to the adornment of her person. She was an excellent creature who had arrived at the sensible conclusion that comfort was more important than appearance; and when she had grown used to a garment, only the repeated persuasion of her children could induce her to give it up. Widowhood with her was a question of pride and a passport to respectability. She wore, somewhat on one side, a shabby crape bonnet, a black old-fashioned cloak, and loose cotton gloves. She carried with affectionate care, as though it were a jewel of vast price, a gloomy and masculine umbrella. It had a bow on the handle. Canon Spratte advanced very cordially and shook hands with her. “How d’you do. How d’you do, Mrs. Railing.” “Nicely, thank you.” She turned and gave a little wave of the hand toward her offspring. “This is my daughter, Miss Railing.” Miss Railing wore a strenuous look and _pince-nez_, a sailor hat, a white blouse, and a leather belt. “How d’you do,” said Canon Spratte. “Quite well, thank you.” Winnie, having passed the time of day with Mrs. Railing, looked shyly at Bertram’s sister. “You weren’t in the other day when I came to Peckham with your brother.” “I didn’t get home till late.”