“My dear Theodore, I have the receipt among the family papers.”
At that moment Winnie, unhappy and pale, came quickly into the room. She gave her father a rapid look of apprehension, then, as if seeking protection, glanced appealingly at the others. But the Canon, full of complacent affection, went towards her and took her in his arms.
“My dear child!” He looked round, and with sportive tenderness gazed into his daughter’s eyes. “But where is the young man? Why haven’t you brought him upstairs with you, darling?”
Winnie, an expression of pain settling about her mouth, disengaged herself from the parental embrace.
“Papa, Harry has asked me to marry him.”
“I know, I know. He did it with my full approval.”
“I hope you won’t be angry,” she said, taking her father’s hand, with a look of entreaty. “You wouldn’t want me to do anything I didn’t like, father.”
“What on earth d’you mean?” he cried, surprised and uncertain.
“I had to say—that I couldn’t.”
The Canon started as though he were shot. “What! You’re joking. Oh, it’s a mistake! I won’t have it. Where is he?”