“There’s nothing to explain, my darling.”
She was growing almost distracted. Her father, good-humoured and affectionate, seemed to hold her in the hollow of his hand, taking from her all strength of will.
“Father, let me speak. You don’t understand.”
“There’s nothing to understand, my dear. I know all about it, and you really need not be nervous. You go with my very best wishes.”
“I can’t go. I must speak to you first,” she cried desperately.
“Come, come, my dear, you must pluck up courage. It’s nothing very terrible. Go downstairs like a good girl, and I daresay you’ll bring Harry up with you.”
He treated her as he would a child, frightened at some imaginary danger, who must be coaxed into boldness. He opened the door, and Winnie, all unwilling, yielded to his stronger mind. With a hearty laugh he came back, rubbing his hands.
“A little maidenly modesty! Very charming, very pretty! It’s a lovely sight, my dear Sophia, that of the typical creamy English girl suffused in the blushes of virginal innocence.”
“Fiddlesticks!” said Lady Sophia.
“You’re a cynic, my dear,” laughed the Canon. “It’s a grave fault of which I recommend you to correct yourself.”