“Oh, I say!” I exclaimed, rather horrified at the construction my speech had been given. “It would be pure form, you know, quite as it is in church, and not mean a bit more than it does when the sinner’s pretty and wears a French gown.” Kate drew her mouth down into a church-going expression, which was very fetching in its demureness, but which wasn’t suitable for our public performance, so I remarked: “Don’t look so disapproving. The saintly vein suits the Madonna type, but the Cortelyou forte lies in quite another direction.” I won another laugh from those unsaintly lips. “You are worse than I thought,” she added. “Then you have thought of me?” I inquired, beginning to mellow under her laugh. That was a mistake, for her face instantly became serious, and her eyes gave a flash. “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.” I raised my eyebrows. “Yes,” she persisted, “it’s an absolutely reliable factor. Now, papa—” Then she hesitated, realising the slip.