Kate saw I was going to use her own speech, and she interrupted in turn. “Of course you are over twenty-one,” she continued, “but the Cortelyou women always have their way. I hope she won’t be very bad to you.”
She certainly had paid me off, and to boot, for my earlier speech. And the nasty thing about it was that any attempt to answer her would look as if I felt there was truth in her speech, which was really ridiculous. Though I live with my mother, my friends know who is the real master of the house.
“Any one living with a Cortelyou woman must confess her superiority,” I responded, bowing deferentially.
“Yes,” she said, nodding her head knowingly. “People say that she spoils you. Now I see how you compass it.”
“We have only exchanged Ibsen for Mrs. Grundy,” I complained.
“‘Excelsior’ is a good rule,” announced Kate.
“That’s what you’ll be doing in a moment,” said I, trying to look doleful, for we were eating the game course.
“How well you act it!” replied Kate. “You ought to go on the stage. What a pity that you should waste your time on clubs and afternoon teas!”
“Look here,” I protested, “I’ve done my best all through dinner, considering my Cortelyou temper, and now, just because it’s so nearly over that you don’t need me any longer is no reason for making such speeches. I don’t go to my club once a week, and I despise afternoon teas.”
“That sampler has become positively threadbare,” retorted Kate. “I really think it must be worked in worsted, and hung up in all the New York clubs, like ‘God bless our home!’ and ‘Merry Christmas!’”