"I reckon you're goin' to correct them?" he said, then.
She took a sip of coffee and placed the cup delicately down before she
answered.
"Of course--if you are to stay here."
"How?" His lips were in an incredulous sneer.
"By showing you that you can't be conceited around me, and that you
can't bully me. I suppose," she went on, leaning her elbows on the
table and supporting her chin with her hands while she looked straight
at him, "that when you came in here and took a seat without being
invited, you imagined you were impressing some one with your
importance. But you were not; you were merely acting the part of a
vulgar boor. Or perhaps you had a vague idea that you were going to do
as you please."
He placed his knife and fork down and looked at her. Her manner was
irritating; her quiet, direct glances disconcerted him. He could not
fail to see that he had signally failed in his effort to disturb her.
In fact, it became very plain to him as he watched her that she was
serenely conscious of her power over him, as a teacher is conscious of
her authority over an unruly pupil, and that, like a teacher, she was
quietly determined to be the victor.
The thought angered Calumet. There was in his mind a desire to humble
her, to crush her, to break her spirit, to drag her down to his own
level where he could fight her with his own weapons.
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