“Ay!” she sighed, “if she has the root of the maitter! There’s a remnant practically in most of the denoaminations. There’s some in the McGlashanites, and some in the Glassites, and mony in the McMillanites, and there’s a leeven even in the Estayblishment.”
“I have known some very good Papists even, if you go to that,” said I.
“Mr. Ducie, think shame to yoursel’!” she cried.
“Why, my dear madam! I only——” I began.
“You shouldna jest in sairious maitters,” she interrupted.
On the whole, she entered into what I chose to tell her of our idyll with avidity, like a cat licking her whiskers over a dish of cream; and, strange to say—and so expansive a passion is that of love!—that I derived a perhaps equal satisfaction from confiding in that breast of iron. It made an immediate bond: from that hour we seemed to be welded into a family party; and I had little difficulty in persuading her to join us and to preside over our tea-table. Surely there was never so ill-matched a trio as Rowley, Mrs. McRankine, and the Viscount Anne! But I am of the Apostle’s way, with a difference: all things to all women! When I cannot please a woman, hang me in my cravat!