find the real you under the name, Beatrice Corliss; woman of affairs. I'd judge you at twenty-five."
"Twenty-one," said Miss Corliss aloofly. "Next November."
"Um," said Steele thoughtfully, though she was never sure that a grave expression did not mask a grin at her. "It takes big money interests to put in the fine lines, doesn't it? Next: How big a proposition have you at hand here?"
"Meaning just what, Mr. Steele?" she asked stiffly.
"The ranch. … By the way, it's called the Queen's Ranch, isn't it?"
"To answer your last question, yes."
"Just of late, I believe? It used to be known as Thunder River Ranch, didn't it?"
"Yes. To both questions."
"And it was to mark your coming that the name changed? Because of your … let me see; how shall I put it pertinently? … of your queenly appearance? Or queenly way of running things? Or both? Just why, Miss Corliss, please?"
The question was put with much grave innocence. Still she had the uneasy impression that he was making fun of her. She had known people to dislike her just as she had known people to fawn and curry favour; it had never entered her experience to have any one, least of all a man, make fun of her. Still she met his eyes steadily and without noticeable hesitation answered.
"I believe I have been called autocratic. It is my own ranch and I do what I please with it."
