She looked at me at the same moment, and as our eyes met, an expression of consternation appeared on both our faces. At least, that’s what I felt in myself and saw in her. Horror succeeded as a next sensation and expression. Womanlike, she cast her eyes appealingly towards her hostess, and, manlike, I took a step towards the hall door. In another second I think I should have bolted, but just then Ferdie Gallaudet said, “Here’s your seat, Jack,” with a grin like a Cheshire cat on his face. I looked at Kate and she looked at me. Then we both looked at the chairs. Mechanically I stepped to them and pulled out that on the right of mine. Kate’s eyelashes fluttered for a moment, as if she were hesitating; then she slipped into the seat, and the next moment I was sitting beside her. But enchantingly pretty as I thought her (and I was either too fair-minded or she was too beautiful for me not to acknowledge it, however much I might dislike to do so), I could only wish I had broken my leg on my way to the house. I turned to my left to see if any escape were possible, but my neighbour on that side was that horrible perpetual motion of a Mrs. Marvin, and, besides, she was very properly occupied with her partner. I peered furtively behind Kate to see if she could escape me, for anything was better than the alternative. Next her were two empty seats. Mrs. Baxter’s capacity for social blundering had done its worst. There is this to be said for the Cortelyou women, whether friends or enemies: I’ve never seen one show the white feather in action. Just as I was preparing to collapse under this accumulation of horrors, Kate turned to me, with the friendliest of smiles, and murmured,— “It’s ghastly, but every one except Mrs. Baxter is watching us.” I took a furtive glimpse of the other guests. They were all pretending to talk, but all clearly were missing nothing of our _tableau vivant_. Wasn’t she clever to have seen it so quickly? “They hope we’ll make a show of the family for their benefit,” I growled. “Can’t we—” suggested Kate, and then hesitated, and blushed very prettily. The Cortelyou women are plucky, but Kate was only nineteen. I never was good as leader, but at the shafts I’m steady and reliable. “Of course we can,” I responded, won by that blush. “Don’t frown, then,” smiled Kate. “I was not frowning at you,” I protested. “But they’ll think you are,” she replied. I tried to appear as pleased as Kate so successfully pretended to be, and she rewarded me with an encouraging “That’s better,” and a very refreshing look at her eyes. “Now,” she continued, “how can we do it?” “I’m pretty well up on the litany,” I whispered. “If you can do the supplications I can respond with the ‘miserable sinner’ part.” Kate laughed merrily, even while shaking her head reprovingly. Kate has nice teeth. “You are painfully frank,” she told me. “Frank?” “Yes. You are probably not a bit more miserable than I am, but I don’t groan aloud.”