“Yes,” I innocently replied. “What’s your average run?” It was a tempting bait she shoved under my nose, but I realised the trap; and was too wary to be caught. “Oh, four, when I’m in good form.” “Really?” “Really.” I did not choose to add that I was talking of the balk-line game, not caring to be too technical with a woman. “That’s very curious!” she exclaimed. “I suppose some devoted friend of mine has told you I’m only a billiard-marker?” I inquired. “No—but—” “But?” “Nothing.” “George Washington became President by always telling the truth.” “That’s the advantage of being a woman,” replied Kate. “We don’t have to scheme and plot and crawl for the Presidency.” “How about spring bonnets?” I mildly insinuated. “Does your mother have a very bad time persuading you to pay for hers?” laughed Kate, mischievously. I didn’t like the question, though I knew she was only teasing, so I recurred to my question. “You haven’t told me what that ‘nothing’ was,” I persisted. “I oughtn’t,” urged Kate. “Then I know you will,” I said confidently. “Well, Seymour Halsey said to Weedon the other night, ‘I wish you could play with Jack Pellew, so as to knock some of his airs out of him!’” “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. “Wasn’t it a pity?” she sighed. That was distinctly nice of her. Just like a Cortelyou woman. “Whew! Jack,” whistled Ferdie Gallaudet. “I thought I should die, and expected to sit on your body at the postmortem.” Ferdie thinks he’s clever! “Oh, shut up, Ferdie,” I growled, dropping back into my seat. “Don’t wonder your temper’s queered,” persisted the little ass. “‘Wotinell’ did you talk about?” “Family matters,” I muttered. “Oh, I say, that’s a bit shiny at the joints. It was too well done to have verged on that subject.” “We talked family matters, and enjoyed it,” I insisted. “Ever hear of George Washington?” inquired Ferdie. “Kate mentioned him to me to-night, and I promised to put him up at the Knickerbocker for a month.”