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Mrs. Lorimer was highly indignant. "Tell your husband all about it, my
dear!" she advised. "He's big enough, and strong enough, to give that
little snob a good trouncing! My patience! I wish George were in
London--he'd lend a hand and welcome!"
And the old lady nodded her head violently over the sock she was
knitting,--the making of socks for her beloved son was her principal
occupation and amusement.
"But I hear," said Thelma, "that it is against the law to strike any
one, no matter how you have been insulted. If so,--then Philip would be
punished for attacking Sir Francis, and that would not be fair."
"You didn't think of that, child, when you struck Lennox yourself,"
returned Mrs. Lorimer, laughing. "And I guarantee you gave him a good
hard blow,--and serve him right! Never mind what comes of it, my
dearie--just tell your husband as soon as ever he comes home, and let
him take the matter into his own hands. He's a fine man--he'll know how
to defend the pretty wife he loves so well!" And she smiled, while her
shining knitting-needles clicked faster than ever.


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