Miss Railing, suffering from no false shame, looked at Winnie with a somewhat disparaging curiosity. She was highly educated and took care to speak the King’s English correctly. She dropped her aitches but seldom. Sometimes she hesitated whether or no to insert the troublesome letter, but when she used it her emphasis fully made up for an occasional lapse. She was, perhaps, a little self-assertive; and came to St. Gregory’s Vicarage as to an enemy’s camp, bristling to take offence. She was determined to show that she was a person of culture. “Let me introduce you to my sister, Lady Sophia Spratte,” said the Canon to Mrs. Railing. “Miss Railing, my sister.” “I’m really Miss Louise Railing, you know,” said that young lady, in a slightly injured tone. “I ’ave two daughters, my lord,” explained Mrs. Railing, who felt that some ceremony was needed to address the member of a noble family, “but the elder one, Florrie, ain’t quite right in ’er ’ead. And we ’ad to shut ’er up in an asylum.” The Canon observed her for one moment and shot a rapid glance at Winnie. “It’s so fortunate that you were able to come,” he said. “In the Season one has so many engagements.” But at the harmless remark Miss Railing bridled. “I thought you people in the West End never did anything?” Canon Spratte laughed heartily. “The West End has a bad reputation--in Peckham Rye.” “Well, I don’t know that I can say extra much for the people of Peckham Rye either. There’s no public spirit among them. And yet we do all we can; the Radical Association tries to stir them up. We give meetings every week--but they won’t come to them.” “I wonder at that,” replied the Canon, blandly. “And do you share your brother’s talent for oratory?” “Oh, I say a few words now and then,” said Miss Railing, modestly. “You should hear ’er talk,” interposed Mrs. Railing, with a significant nod. “Well, I hold with women taking part in everything. I’m a Radical from top to toe.” Miss Railing stared hard at Lady Sophia, who was watching her with polite attention. “I can’t stand the sort of woman who sits at home and does nothing but read novels and go to balls. There’s an immense field for women’s activities. And who thinks now that women are inferior to men?” “Ain’t she wonderful!” ejaculated Mrs. Railing, with unconcealed admiration. “Ma!” protested her daughter. “She says I always praise ’er in front of people,” Mrs. Railing laughed good-humouredly. “But I can’t ’elp it. You should see all the prizes and certificates she’s got. Oh, I am proud of ’er, I can tell you.” “Ma, don’t go on like that always. It makes people think I’m a child.” “Well, Louie, I can’t ’elp it. You’re a marvel and there’s no denying it. Tell ’em about the gold medal you won.” “I wish you would,” said Lord Spratte. “I always respect people with gold medals.” “Go on with you,” cried Miss Railing.