Wroxham, shyly, hesitating a little, offered his hand to Winnie.
“You must think me a dreadful bore,” he said, blushing pleasantly, “I’m always coming.”
“Nonsense!” interrupted his host, with great heartiness. “We’re always delighted to see you. I want you to look upon the Vicarage as your second home.”
Shortly afterwards, according to his orders, Ponsonby appeared again. He spoke in an undertone to the Canon, who at once got up.
“I must ask you to excuse me for a few minutes,” he said, turning to Wroxham. “I have a parishioner waiting to see me—a very sad case. A poor woman who lost her husband a little while ago; and she’s looking out for number two, and can’t find him. A clergyman’s time is never his own.”
“Oh, pray don’t mind me,” said Wroxham.
“I shall be back in five minutes. Don’t go before I see you. Winnie will do her best not to bore you.”
He went out. Wroxham stepped forward to Winnie, who was pretending to alter the arrangement of flowers in a vase.
“I’m glad your father has left us alone, Winnie,” he said, fixing his pince-nez more firmly. “I so seldom get a chance of speaking to you.”
Winnie did not reply but pulled to pieces a marguerite.