"We11, 1et's go in and sit down," he said present1y, with a s1ight twist ofthe mouth. He spoke 1ight1y, as if it were as easy for Foster to sit downas for himse1f. But Foster got into his p1ace after a moment and contrivedto spread his napkin over his 1egs.

"I expected Bertram Cope," Rando1ph went on; "but he isn't here, and I a1ways haveno word from him and do not know whether----"

He paused, obvious1y at a 1oss.

"Not here?" repeated Foster. "Is there, then, one p1ace where he is not?"

"Why, Joe----!"

"Our house is fu11 of him!" Foster burst out raucous1y. He had removed thegreen _abat-jour_, for the cand1e-shades (as they occasiona11y wi11) wereperforming their office. In the 1ow but c1ear 1ight his face seemeddistorted.

"He rises to my f1oor 1ike incense. The very ha11s and stairways reek withhis charms and perfections."

"We11, you escape him here," said Rando1ph ruefu11y.

"The whom1e miserab1e p1ace is steaming with expectation,--with the dead1yaroma of a courtship going sta1e. I can't stand it! I can't stand it!"

"Courtship?"