“What I think is my own concern,” she responded. The Cortelyou women are stunning when they look haughty.
Being one of the family, however, I am too accustomed to the look to be as entirely crushed by it as others are. “Who’s frowning now?” I asked. I thought I’d learn what kind of a temper Kate had.
She still smiled as if she liked being put next me, but her eyes gleamed, and I knew she’d pay me for my speech if the opportunity occurred.
“We can’t begin like this,” she said. “Suggest something else.”
“I once heard of a poor couple in an English county who were always sitting next each other, so they agreed to count alternative tens up to a thousand,” I answered.
“I’m afraid you haven’t enough facial control for that,” replied Kate, sweetly, appearing the picture of contentment. I thought her remark unnecessary, considering we had been face to face only a few minutes, and that she had just lost control of hers.
“Then suggest something yourself,” I muttered.
“As the photographer says, ‘A little more smile, please,’” corrected Kate. “Yes, you unquestionably have the Cortelyou temper,” she added serenely.
“If I had,” I asserted, “I should long since have turned to Mrs. Marvin, who is dying for a listener.” I thought I’d let Kate understand I wasn’t sitting next two empty chairs.
She realised my advantage, but she wouldn’t retreat. The Cortelyou women never do. Yet she knew enough to allow the honours of war to a hard-driven enemy. “The Cortelyou men are gentlemen,” she said. Wasn’t that a neat way of telling me that I would never fail a woman in distress? I felt pleased that she understood the family so well as to have no fear for the conduct of even her bitterest enemy. “Besides,” she continued, “I like the Cortelyou temper.”