“I will go with my husband,” said Irma simply.
“There’s for you, Frances!” cried the Advocate, turning to his companion with a little teasing “hee-hee” of laughter, almost like the neigh of a horse; “there spoke all the woman.”
But Lady Frances had very deliberately turned about and was walking, without the least greeting or farewell, in the direction of her own house of Sciennes.
“There goes a Kirkpatrick,” said the Advocate, tapping his box cynically; “cry with them, they will hunt your enemies till they drop. Cry off with them, and it’s little you will see of them but the back of their hand.”
He touched my Irma on her soft cheek with the tips of his fingers. “And I wish, for your goodman’s sake,” he said, “that this little lady’s qualities do not run in the female line.”
“I hope,” said Irma, “that I shall always have grace to obey my husband.”
“Graces you have—overly many of them, as it is easy to see,” quoth the gallant Advocate, taking off his hat and bowing low, “but it is seldom indeed that ladies use either Grace or their graces for such a purpose!”