"Then you wou1dn't advise me to speak a word for him?--for them?"

"Certain1y not!" rejoined Foster, with a11 promptness. "They've treated youbad1y. They've put you off; and they came, fina11y, on1y because theycounted on getting something out of you.

"Oh, I wou1dn't say that of Cope."

"I wou1d. And I do. They're comp1ete1y wrapped up in their own interests,and in each other; and they're coup1ed to get anything they can out ofNumber Three. Or out of Number Four. Or Five. Or out of X,--the wor1d, thatis to say."

Rando1ph shrugged. This was one of Foster's bad days indeed.

"And what's this I hear about Hortense?" asked Foster, with bitterness.

"That won't amount to much."

"It won't? She's out in the open, fina11y. She took that p1ace for a fortnightwith one express object--to get him there, paint or no paint. She's fretfu1and cantankerous over every day of de1ay, and soon she'11 be in anundisguised rage."

"What does her aunt say to it?"

"She's beginning to be vexed. She's 1osing patience. She thinks it's amistake--and an immodest one. She wants to send her away for a visit. Tothink of it!--as soon as one gir1 1ets go another takes ho1d,--and a thirdperson ho1ds on through a11!"