Bertram’s eyes were fixed steadily on Canon Spratte. He tried to discover what lay at the back of the man’s mind, but could not. He saw only that behind that calm face, amid this resonance of polished phrase, something was being hidden from him.
“I don’t believe a word you say. I’m not a child. I assure you it’s no good trying to hoodwink me. Tell me the simple truth.”
The Canon flushed at this appeal and was nearly put out of countenance. He wondered if he should fly into a passion and order Railing out of the house. But it was doubtful whether the Socialist would go. He was a little disconcerted, too, by the steadfastness with which Bertram had resisted him, and the scorn wherewith he brushed aside his specious reasons. Canon Spratte was hot with anger. The taunts to which he had calmly listened, rankled in his heart, and he would have been pleased to show that none could thus treat him with impunity. But he seldom lost his temper unadvisedly, and he realized now that calmness gave him a decided advantage over the angry and excited suitor.
“Are you quite sure that Winnie cares for you?” he asked, mildly.
“As sure as I am of my own name and of my own life.”
There was a pause. The Canon for a minute walked up and down the room; and then, holding himself very erect, stood still in front of Bertram. His voice was full of authority.
“Well, it is my painful duty to inform you that you are mistaken. Winnie recognizes that she misjudged the strength of her affection.”
“I don’t believe it,” said Railing, full of scorn.
“My patience must be inexhaustible. I am much tempted to kick you downstairs, Mr. Railing.”
“You forget that I’m a working-man and horny-handed, so it’s safer not to try.”
“It evidently hasn’t occurred to you that the manners of Peckham Rye are not altogether suitable to South Kensington,” smiled the Canon, blandly.
“Winnie has requested me to tell you that she finds she does not care for you enough to marry you. She regrets the inconvenience and unhappiness that she has caused, and desires you to release her.”
Bertram grew white and he gathered himself together as a wild beast might, driven to bay.
“It’s a lie!” he cried, furiously. “It’s a lie!”
“You will have the goodness to remember that I am a minister of the Church and a son of the late Lord Chancellor of England.”