So this was the reason of her long silence. Charlotte had babbled. I might have known. Still, I could not charge my conscience with anything very grave. After all, the intention on both sides--Charlotte's as well as mine,--had been of the best. She wanted to marry her Tam of the Ewebuchts, which she had managed--I, to wed Irma, from which I was yet as far off as ever. So I made no remark, but only walked along in a grieved silence. It was not very long till Irma remarked, a little viciously, but with the old involuntary toss of her head which sent all her foam-light curls dipping and swerving into new effects and combinations--so that I could hardly take my eyes off her--"Would you like to hear more about Charlotte?" "Yes!" said I boldly. For I knew the counter for her moods, which was to be of the same, only stronger. "Well, she has two children, and when the second, a boy, was born, she claimed another five hundred pounds from her father to stock a farm for him--the old man called it 'a bonny bairn-clout' for our Lottie's Duncan!" "What did you say the bairn's name was?" "Duncan--after you!" This with an air of triumph, very pretty to see. "And the elder, the girl?" I asked--though, indeed, that I knew--from the old letters of my Aunt Jen. "Irma!" she answered, some little crestfallen. "After you?" She had barely time to nod when we passed in at the lodge gate of the Nun's House. The old porter came to the gate to make his reverence, and no doubt to wonder who the young lady, his mistress's kinswoman, had gotten home with her. I found the Lady Kirkpatrick--Lady by courtesy, but only known thus by all her circle--to be a little vivid spark of a white-haired woman, sitting on a sofa dressed in the French fashion of forty years ago, and with a small plume of feathers in a jewelled turban that glittered as she moved. At first she was kind enough to me. "Hey, Master-of-Arts Duncan MacAlpine, this is a bonny downcome for your grandfather's son, and you come of decent blood up in Glen Strae--to be great with the Advocate, and scribbling his blethers! A sword by your side would have suited ye better, I'm thinking!" "Doubtless, my lady," I answered, "if such had been my state and fortune. Nevertheless, I can take a turn at that too, if need be." "Aha, ye have not lost the Highland conceit, in drawing water from the wells of Whiggery!" "If I mistake not," I replied, "your ladyship did not care to bide always about a king's court when she had the chance." For I knew her history, as did everybody in Edinburgh--a little gossiping town at that time--now, they say, purged of scandal--which is a Heaven's miracle if ever there was one.