“I think we ought to be trotting, ma,” said her daughter. “P’raps we ought. We’ve got a long way to go.” “We’d better take the train, ma.” “Oh, let’s go in a ’bus, my dear,” answered Mrs. Railing. “I like riding in ’buses, the conductors are so good-looking, and such gentlemen. Why, the other day I got into conversation with the conductor, and would you believe it, he made me drink a drop of beer with ’im at the end of the journey. Oh, he was a nice young man!” “Ma!” “Well, my dear, so ’e was. And ’e’s none the worse for being a ’bus conductor. They earn very good money, and ’e told me ’e was a married man, so I don’t see no ’arm in it.” “Come on, ma, or we shall never get off,” said Miss Railing. “Well, good-bye, my lord. And thank you.” Canon Spratte shook hands with them both very warmly. “So kind of you to come all this way. We’ve thoroughly enjoyed your visit.” But when the door was closed behind the visitors utter silence fell upon every one in the room. Winnie looked silently in front of her, and silently Lord Spratte and Lady Sophia watched her. The Canon went to a window and glanced at the retreating figure of Mrs. Railing. He drummed on the panes and softly hummed to himself: “_For I’m no sailor bold,_ _And I’ve never been upon the sea;_ _And if I fell therein, it’s a fact I couldn’t swim,_ _And quickly at the bottom I should be._” Winnie got up suddenly, and without a word left the room. The Canon smiled quietly. He sat down and wrote a note to Wroxham asking him to tea on the following afternoon. XIII THE fates always behaved handsomely to Theodore Spratte. He was not surprised when Lady Sophia announced at luncheon next day that she meant to spend the afternoon at the Academy. The Canon expressed his regret that he would not enjoy the privilege of her society at tea, but proposed that he and Winnie should have it quite cosily by themselves. Ponsonby received private instructions that no one but Lord Wroxham should be admitted. “And after his lordship has been here about five minutes, Ponsonby, I wish you to call me away.” When Canon Spratte gave this order he looked straight into the butler’s eyes to frown down any expression of surprise; but Ponsonby replied without moving a muscle. “Very well, sir.” He turned to leave the room, and as he did so, thinking the Canon could not see, solemnly winked at the portrait of Josiah, Lord Chancellor of England. For a moment Canon Spratte thought it must be an optical delusion, for that vast, heavy face remained impassive. Yet he would have sworn that Ponsonby’s right lid descended slowly with a smooth and wary stealthiness. The Canon said no word, and when the butler at last disappeared smiled quietly to himself. “Ponsonby is really a very remarkable character.”