They all drifted out into the larger room. Mrs. Ryder left them,--perhaps to distribute her small change of art and literature through the crowd. "You're not forgetting Hortense?" Mrs. Phillips herself said, before leaving him. "By no means," Cope replied. "I hear you didn't make much of a start." "We had tea," returned Cope, with satirical intention. This left Medora Phillips unscathed. "Tea puts on no paint," she observed, and was lost in the press. It need not be assumed that knowledge of Carolyn Thorpe's verse gained wide currency through University circles, but there was a copy of the magazine in the University library. Lemoyne saw it there. He scarcely knew whether to be pleased or vexed. Finally he decided that there was safety in numbers. If Cope really intended to go to that studio, it was just as well that there should be an impassioned poetess in the background. And it was just as well that Cope should know she was there. Lemoyne took a line not unlike Mrs. Phillips' own. "I only wish there were more of them," he declared, looking up from his desk. "I'd like a lady barber for your head, a lady shoemaker for your feet, a lady psychologist for your soul----" "Stop it!" cried Cope. "I've had about all I can stand. If you want to live in peace, as you sometimes say, do your share to keep the peace." "You _are_ going to have another sitting?" "I am. How can I get out of it?" "You don't want to get out of it." "Well, after all the attentions they've shown us----" "Us? You." "Me, then. Shall I be so uncivil as to hold back?" "It might not displease her if you did." "Her?" "Your Mrs. Phillips. If I may risk a guess------" "You may not. Your precious 'psychology' can wait. Don't be in such a damned hurry to use it." "It had better be used in time." "It had better not be used at all. Drop it. Think about your new play, or something." "Oh, the devil!" sighed Lemoyne. "Winnebago seems mighty far off. We got on there, at least." He bent again over his desk. Cope put down his book and came across. There were tears, perhaps, in his eyes--the moisture of vexation, or of contrition, or of both. "We can get along here, too," he said, with an arm around Lemoyne's shoulder. "Let's hope so," returned Lemoyne, softening, with his hand pressed on Cope's own. 26 _COPE AS A GO-BETWEEN_ This brief exchange might have passed for a quarrel and a reconciliation; and the reconciliation seemed to call for a seal. That was soon set by another of Randolph's patient invitations to dinner. "Let's go," said Cope; "I've got to go again--sometime." "I don't care about it, very much," replied Lemoyne. "If you want any help of his toward a position.... Time's passing. And a man can't be expected to bestir himself much for another man he's never even seen." "All right. I'll go with you."