"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?"
