"Yes. With the first tenors. There you have him,--third from the left, just behind that row of little devils in surplices." "You and he sing together?" "Sometimes--when we _are_ together." "'Larboard Watch' and 'Suona la Tromba' and----?" "Oh, heavens!" said Cope. He threw up his head quite spiritedly. There was now more color in his cheeks, more sparkle in his eyes, more vibration in his voice. Amy looked at him with a vanishing pity and a growing admiration. "Let us fellows be of our own day and generation," he added. "Willingly," said Mrs. Phillips. "But my husband was fond of 'Larboard Watch'; I heard him sing in it before we were married. Shall I ever hear you sing together?" she asked. "Possibly. He is coming down here early in January. To look after me." "After you?" Mrs. Phillips reviewed the photographs once more. "I imagine you may sometimes have to look after him." Cope sobered a little. "Sometimes," he acknowledged. "We shall look after each other," he amended. "We are going to live together." "Oh, then, he is coming to _stay_? You've been a long time in reaching the point. And why do you say 'possibly' when I ask about your singing together? Aren't you coming to my house 'together'?" "I withdraw the 'possibly.' Probably." "And now withdraw the 'probably.' Make it 'certainly.'" "Certainly." "'Certainly,'--of course." "That's better," murmured her companion. Then Mrs. Phillips must know the new-comer's name, and must have an outline of the proposed plan. And Amy Leffingwell began to look with renewed interest on the counterfeit form and features of the young man who enjoyed Bertram Cope's friendly regard. And so the moments of "entertainment"--Cope's in turn--went on. "I'm glad he really appears to like _somebody_," declared Mrs. Phillips, on the way home; "it makes him seem quite human." Inwardly, she was resolving to have both the young men to dine at the earliest possible date. It was not always practicable to invite a single young man as often as you wished. Having two to ask simplified the problem considerably. Cope, flushed and now rather tired, walked up stairs with his photographs, took a perfunctory sip from a medicine-glass, looked at the inkstain on his finger, and sat down at his table. Two or three sheets of a letter were lying on it, and he re-read a paragraph or so before dipping his pen. "You were rather exacting about that week-end excursion. Mr. R. was all right, and a few days of new air and new scenes would have done me a lot of good. Still, I acknowledge your first claim. But remember that I gave up Indian Rock for you, even if you didn't give up Green Bay for me. I hope the fellow who took you hasn't got anything further to propose. If he has, I ask for a tip in turn. "Naturally it wasn't the easiest thing in the world to explain to him, and I haven't seen him since. But I can truly say that a relative _did_ come, and that she was needed--or thought she was."