"Yes; they're leaving it one by one. First, Amy. You remember Amy?"
"I believe so."
"She married George and went away. You recall the occasion?"
"I think I was present."
"And now it's Hortense."
"Is it, indeed?"
She told him about the gallant young Southerner in Tennessee, and gave a forecast of a probable pairing.
"And next it will be Carolyn."
"Carolyn? Who has cast his eye on her?"
Medora shot it out.
"Bertram Cope!"
"Cope!" Randolph gave himself another twist in that well-twisted sofa.
"Cope," she repeated. If the boy were indeed beyond her own reach, she would report his imminent capture by another with as much effect as she could command.
And she told of Carolyn's fateful letter.
"So that's how it stands?" he said thoughtfully.
"I don't say 'how' it stands. I don't say that it 'stands' at all. But he has prospects and she has hopes."
"Prospects and hopes,—a strong working combination."
Medora took the leap. "She will marry him, of course," she said decidedly. "After his having jilted Amy——"
