"Sue ... do you really think I'm the sort of woman to flirt with a man on paper, while I'm getting a divorce?"
Miss Pickett, still quite calm, replied:
"No, honey, you know I don't think so."
"Then what do you think?" demanded Sophy, beginning to bristle a little.
"I think," said her cousin, putting down her embroidery on her lap for a moment, and looking quizzical but profound, "that sometimes congeniality is more dangerous than passion."
Sophy returned her look a little loftily.
"Dear Sue," said she, "haven't you really taken in that all that side of me is dead ... quite dead?"
"No ... 'playing 'possum,'" flashed Miss Pickett.
"Oh, have your little joke by all means," said Sophy, smiling. "But after all it's 'my funeral' as they say out here.... I suppose the corpse knows better than any one else whether it's dead or not."
"On the contrary—the corpse doesn't know anything whatever about it," said her cousin. "If you were really a corpse, my lamb, you wouldn't know it."