ing out in turn. "Mr. Randolph, bring her a nibble of something."
"I might——" began Cope.
"You don't deserve the privilege."
"Oh, very well," he returned, lapsing into an easy passivity.
"Never mind, anyway," said Amy, still without cognomen and connections; "I can starve with perfect convenience. Or I can find a mouthful somewhere, later."
"Let us starve sitting," said Randolph. "Here are chairs."
The hostess herself came bustling up brightly.
"Has everybody . . .?"
And she bustled away.
"Yes; everybody—almost," said Mrs. Phillips to her associates, behind their entertainer's back. "If you're hungry. Amy, it's your own fault. Sit down."
And there let us leave them—our little group, our cast of characters: "everybody—almost," save one. Or two. Or three.
