"What is the matter with Mrs. Vance?" asked she. "You seem to have frozen her into a statue."
"I am sure I cannot tell," he answered with an assumption of carelessness.
"But you barely spoke to each other. I am sure I thought you two were the best of friends—really intimate in fact. Yet you seemed on the most indifferent terms just now," said she, incredulously.
Lance smiled carelessly, and reached out for one of the roses in her lap.
"My dear little sister," said he, "who can answer for the vagaries of woman? Mrs. Vance has always been exceedingly friendly with me, but she seems to have taken an opposite whim just now. But it would not be fair to question her motives, would it? Men have to bear the caprices of women without complaint—do they not? I believe one of the best of the female poets claims caprice as a right divine of the fair sex."
"Oh, yes. Mrs. Osgood says:
"''Tis helpless woman's right divine,
Her only right—caprice,'"
returned Ada, repeating the quotation with a very pretty emphasis.
"Then let us not question Mrs. Vance's right to exercise her divine prerogative. I dare not rebel—I must only submit. And, by the way, begging your pardon for changing the subject, will you ride with me this evening? I came expressly to ask you. I have my new phaeton and cream-white ponies—the ones I purchased for Lily's use," said he, with a smothered sigh.
She went to the window to look at them.