He felt, in fact, the need of a little soothing. Foster had been taking a farewell shot at Cope and had been rough and vindictive. He had heard something of the antics of "Annabella's" partner and had magnified characteristically the seriousness of the offense. "What hope for him"--meaning Cope--"so long as he goes on liking and admiring that fellow?" "Well," returned Randolph, in an effortless platitude, "liking is the great mystery--whether you take its coming or its going." "The sooner this one goes, the better," snapped Foster. "Have you heard from that fellow at all?" he inquired. "'That fellow'? What fellow--this time?" "The other one, of course. Cope." "No." Foster wiped out Cope with one question. "Likely to 'cultivate' some other young chap, next year?" Randolph had a moment of sober thoughtfulness. "No." "Good! Get back into harness; have 'hours' and all the rest of it. Best thing in the world for you. The young care so much for us--the devil they do!" Foster gave a savage, dragging clutch at his shade and twisted rebelliously in his chair. Randolph left him to himself and went below. Downstairs dinner proceeded cautiously. There was no chance for an interchange of thought until the two young women should have been got out of the way. Hortense had her own affair at the back of her head, and Carolyn hers. Neither could sympathize with the other. Hortense's manner to Carolyn was one of half-suppressed insolence. Carolyn, buoyed up interiorly, seemed able to endure it,--perhaps was not fully conscious of it. There was relief when, after dessert, each arose and went her respective way. Medora and Randolph settled down on a causeuse in the drawing-room. The place was half-lighted, but Randolph made out that his companion was taking on a conscious air of pseudo-melancholy. Her eyes roved the dim, cluttered room with studied mournfulness, and she said, presently: "Dear old house! Undergoing depopulation, and soon to be a waste." "Depopulation?" "Yes; they're leaving it one by one. First, Amy. You remember Amy?" "I believe so." "She married George and went away. You recall the occasion?" "I think I was present." "And now it's Hortense." "Is it, indeed?" She told him about the gallant young Southerner in Tennessee, and gave a forecast of a probable pairing. "And next it will be Carolyn." "Carolyn? Who has cast his eye on her?" Medora shot it out. "Bertram Cope!" "Cope!" Randolph gave himself another twist in that well-twisted sofa. "Cope," she repeated. If the boy were indeed beyond her own reach, she would report his imminent capture by another with as much effect as she could command. And she told of Carolyn's fateful letter. "So that's how it stands?" he said thoughtfully. "I don't say 'how' it stands. I don't say that it 'stands' at all. But he has prospects and she has hopes." "Prospects and hopes,--a strong working combination."