She was malicious enough to observe in silence the unobtrusive pantomime by which the enemy tried to coax a semblance of warmth into his cold coffee. He had begun by pouring cream into it, but the cream refused to assimilate and only made the mixture look less inviting.
"I'm glad I met you today," he said, while she was getting her breath. "Looks lonesome around here. Not much doing at the mines, is there?"
"Not a great deal," she answered coldly.
"How about Barb Doubleday—is he up at the mines, or here?"
He was indifferently lifting matches from the stand at his hand, striking them and burning them patiently against the side of his cup of coffee. Like a flash came to Kate with his question, the thought that this disagreeable person must be the court officer. He looked up at her now as if waiting for an answer: "Why do you ask?" she countered.
"Mostly because I'd like to hear you say something."
"Anything, I suppose," she suggested ironically.
"That's not far from it," was the reply. "Also, I want to see Barb."
"What about?" she asked, borrowing his own assurance. It was time, she thought, for defensive strategy.
"Just a little business matter." It was long, very long afterward that Kate learned, and fully realized, the significance of the indifferently spoken words; when she did, she wondered that a man's manner could so completely mask all that lay behind them.