“Which means you and a villa in Peckham Rye. Upon my soul, you’re very modest.”
Bertram looked at him steadily, thrusting forward his head with a searching air. He turned over in his mind all that the other had said.
“What are you driving at?” he asked, at length. “Why don’t you say it out like a man, instead of beating about the bush?”
“My dear Mr. Railing, I must beg you to observe the conventions of polite society. It is clearly my duty to inquire into the circumstances of any young man who proposes to marry my daughter.”
Bertram gave a little hoarse laugh.
“I distrusted you when you first agreed to our engagement. I knew you despised me. I knew that all your flattery was humbug. Say it straight out like a man.”
Canon Spratte shrugged his shoulders, and spoke slowly and gravely.
“Mr. Railing, I solemnly ask you to give up my daughter. After mature reflection I have come to the conclusion that the marriage is impossible, and I will never give my consent to it.”
“We will do without it; we’re free, both of us, and we don’t care a button for you. Winnie has promised to marry me, and, by God, she shall.”
“Do you absolutely disregard my express wishes?”