g on the
other arm. Perhaps for that reason, he did not offer to shake hands with
Jimmy; but even when the chauffeur had hurried forward for his things,
he had made no attempt to remedy the omission.

"Good morning, Mr. Grierson," he said. "I am glad to see you received
my telegram. Yes, Jones," to the chauffeur, "put those in the motor-car,
and kindly wait for me. I shall be going up shortly. And please put the
hood up, if possible.

"Now, Mr. Grierson, is there anywhere we can talk. I have a few
questions of a rather serious nature, of a distinctly serious nature, I
might say, to ask you."

Jimmy, now fully convinced that his theory of trouble ahead was right,
pulled himself together to meet it. The Canon's manner had already
aroused his antagonism, and he was in no mood to submit tamely.

"We can talk in there, if you like," he answered, nodding towards the
refreshment-room. "I see the waiting-rooms are occupied."

The Canon frowned, thinking he detected a hint of flippancy in the
younger man's manner. "I said it was a serious matter," he replied,
severely, "and a public bar is hardly the place for discussion, hardly
the place I should be likely to visit in any case." He glanced along the
platform, which was already deserted. "I think we will walk up that
direction, if you please."

Jimmy, now thoroughly nettled, took out his case and lighted a cigarette
with rather ostentatious coolness, waiting for the other to begin.

At last when they got to the open end of the platform, Canon Farlow
cleared his voice with a little cough which he had often found most
effective on solemn occasions. "I understand from your letter that you
have proposed marriage to my daughter, Vera."

Jimmy corrected him quietly. "I am engaged to Miss Farlow. I am sorry if
I didn't make that quite clear to you."

If men in his position did such things, the Canon would have snorted; as
it was, however, he remembered his dignity in time. "Pardon me, Mr.
Grierson, my daughter knows better than to accept a proposal of marriage
from any man without my permission. Anything she may have said was
provisional, simply provisional, until I, myself, had made inquiries. I
regret to say now that what I have learnt about you is greatly to your
discredit, terribly so. I have had a letter from your sister, Mrs.
Fenton."

Jimmy was pale already, and he went, if possible, a shade paler, with
anger; but he spoke very calmly. "Yes, and what does Ida say abo