"That's very nice of you," he rejoined, flattered. "But within a couple of months," he went on, with a lowered voice and an eye on the parlor door, "I shall be living in a different place and in quite a different way. Until then...." He shrugged. His shrug was meant to include the scanty, unpretending furnishings of the room, and also the rough casual fare provided by many houses of entertainment out of present sight. "I almost feel like taking you in myself," declared Medora boldly. "That's still nicer of you," he said very promptly and with a reinforcement of his smile. "But I'm on the up-grade, and pretty soon everything will come out as smooth as silk. I shall have ten days at home, for the holidays; then, after that, the new dispensation." Amy Leffingwell tempered her look of general commiseration with a slight lapse into relief. There was no compelling reason why she should have commiserated; perhaps it all came from a desire to indulge in an abandonment to gentleness and pity. "Do you know," said Cope, with a sort of embarrassed laugh, "I feel as if I were letting myself become the focus of interest. Oughtn't I to do something to make the talk less personal?" He glanced about the meagre little room. It gave no cue. "I'm sure Amy and I are satisfied with the present subject," returned Medora. But Cope rose, and gathered his bathrobe--or dressing-gown--about him. "Wait a moment. I have some photographs I can show you--several of them came only yesterday. I'll bring them down." As soon as he had disappeared into the hall, Mrs. Phillips gave a slight smile and said quickly: "For heaven's sake, Amy, don't look so concerned, and mournful, and sympathetic! Anybody might think that, instead of your being my chaperon, I was yours!" "He doesn't look at all well," said Amy defensively. "He might look better; but we can't pity a young man too openly. Pity is akin to embarrassment, for the pitied." Cope came down stairs the second time at a lesser pace. He carried a sheaf of photographs. Some were large and were regularly mounted; others were but the informal products of snap-shottery. He drew up his chair nearer to theirs and began to spread his pictures over the gray and brown pattern on his lap. "You know I was teaching, last year, at Winnebago," he said. "Here are some pictures of the place. Science Hall," he began, passing them. "Those fellows on the front steps must be a graduating class. "The Cathedral," he continued. "And I think that, somewhere or other, I have a group-picture of the choir. "Sisterhood house," he went on. "Two or three of them standing out in front." "Sisterhood?" asked Mrs. Phillips, with interest. "What do they do?" Cope paused. "What do they do, indeed? Well, for one thing, they decorate the altar--Easter, Harvest home, and so on." "That isn't much. That doesn't take a house." "Well, I suppose they visit, and teach. Sort of neighborhood centre. Headquarters. Most of them, I believe, live at home."