He did not quite smile back. Carolyn was well enough, however. She was suitably dressed for a walk. Her shoes were sensible, and so was her hair. Amy had run to fluffiness. Hortense had often favored heavy waves and emphatic bandeaux. But Carolyn's hair was drawn back plainly from her forehead, and was gathered in a small, low-set knot. "Still, it's no concern of mine," he reminded himself, and walked on ahead. Carolyn's sensible shoes brought her back, with the others, at twilight. The three took up rather ornamentally (with aid from Peter and Helga) the lighter details of housekeeping. Toward the end of the stroll, Cope and Carolyn,--perhaps upon the mere unconscious basis of youth,--had rather fallen in together, and Medora Phillips, once or twice, had had to safeguard for herself her face and eyesight from the young trees that bordered their path. But that evening, as they sat on a settle before the driftwood fire, Medora took pains to place herself in the middle. Carolyn was a sweet young flower, doubtless--humbler, possibly, than Amy or Hortense; yet she too perhaps must be extirpated, gently but firmly, from the garden of desire. "You look better already," Medora said to Cope. "You'll go back to-morrow a new man." Her elbow was on the back of the settle and close to his shoulder. His face caught the glow from the fire. "Oh, I'm all right, I assure you," he said. "You _do_ look better," observed Carolyn on her own account. "This air is everything. Only a few hours of it----" "Another bit of wood on the fire, if you please, Carolyn," said her patroness. "Let me do it," said Cope. He rose quickly and laid on a stick or two. He remained standing on the edge of the glow. He hoped nobody would say again that he was looking rather thin and pale. "And what is Mr. Lemoyne doing this evening?" presently asked Mrs. Phillips in a dreamy undertone. Her manner was casual and negligent; her voice was low and leisurely. She seemed to place Lemoyne at a distance of many, many leagues. "Rehearsing, I suppose?" "Yes," replied Cope. "This new play has absorbed him completely." "He will do well?" "He always does. He always has." "Men in girls' parts are so amusing," said Carolyn. "Their walk is so heavy and clumsy, even if their dancing isn't. And when they speak up in those big deep bass and baritone voices...!" "Arthur will speak in a light tenor." "Will his walk be heavy and clumsy?" asked Mrs. Phillips. "He is an artist," replied Cope. "Not too much of one, I trust," she returned. "I confess I like boys best in such parts when they frankly and honestly seem to be boys. That's half the fun--and nine-tenths of the taste." "Taste?" "Yes, taste. Short for good taste. There's a great deal of room for bad. A thing may be done too thoroughly. Once or twice I've seen it done that way, by--artists." Cope, in the half-light, seemed rather unhappy. "He finds time for--for all this--this technique?" Mrs. Phillips asked.