“Why,” I ejaculated, “I could play cushion caroms against your brother’s straight game and beat him then!”
“I never did believe that story about George Washington,” asserted Kate, with a singular want of relevance.
“No woman could,” I answered, squaring accounts promptly.
Here I saw the little preliminary flutter among the ladies, and knowing that I should never speak to Kate again, I said:
“Miss Cortelyou, I’m afraid an unkind remark of mine a little while ago gave you pain. You’ve probably forgotten it already, but I never shall cease to regret I made it.”
“Don’t think of it again,” she replied, kindly, as she rose. “And thank you for a pleasant evening.”
“Don’t blame me for that,” I pleaded hastily. “It was your own fault.”
“Not entirely,” denied Kate. “We did it so well that I’m prouder than ever of the family.”
“I decline to share this honour with my grandfather,” I protested indignantly. “He couldn’t keep his temper, bother him!”
We were at the door now, and Kate gave me the prettiest of parting nods and smiles.