Her father had long since given up on angry looks like that – his cutting, disapproving glares had ceased to work on her at about nine years old, when she had learned imperviousness to them and he had always softened eventually in response. Mattie assumed she could achieve the same effect with anyone, so long as she did not seem bothered by the attempt.

And Mr. Orpington was – feigning or being – grumpy about it, but see, he was still giving her a little of what she wanted. She smiled. “So I must decide if you are more a rebel, or a romantic,” Mattie replied, with a hum of consideration. Both, perhaps, but something must have spurred him more.

Regardless of which was true – she leaned in, casually conspiratorial. “As someone who knows all about overbearing fathers, and who hasn’t much patience for romantics, I hope it’s the former.” He would be far less fun for her if all she was letting herself in for was hearing him mope about wanting love.

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