there would be sufficient to occupy him without the company of Lemoyne or anybody else: evidences of an eye set solely on the new opportunity in the East.
"Well, if he is going to get along without him," said Medora to herself, "it will be all the better for him. He was never any advantage to him," she added, with an informal and irresponsible use of her pronouns. But she knew what she meant and had no auditor to satisfy.
When, however, she touched on the matter with Basil Randolph she showed more exactitude. Randolph had lingered late upstairs with Foster, and he had been intercepted, on his way out, with an invitation to remain to dinner. "Very well," he said. "Sing-Lo is not invariably inspired on Monday evening. I shall be glad to stay."
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."
