"He praised her playing. Cope sat dumb. And next morning he hurried awaybefore breakfast. You know what kind of a morning it was. Anything fairlypressing at the University on a Saturday morning at eight?"

"I hardly know."

"How about this sudden recent friend?" Foster twitched inside his chair. "Medora,"he went on, "seems to have no special fancy for him. She even objects tohis calling Cope 'Bert.' 0f course he sings. And he seems to be self-possessed and clever. But 'self-possessed'--that doesn't express it. He wasso awfully, so publicly, at home; at least that's as I gather it. Alwayshanging over the other man's chair; always finding a reason to put his handon his shoulder...."

"Body-guard? No wonder Pearson came to the fore."

"I don't know. What I've heard makes me think of----"

And here, Foster, speaking with a keen and complicated acerbity, recalledhow, during earlier years of travel, he had had opportunity to observe ayoung married couple at a Saratoga hotel. They had made their partialitytoo public, and an elderly lady not far away in the vast "parlor" hadaudibly complained that they brought the manners of the bed-chamber intothe drawing-room.

"They talked half through the evening, too," Foster added bitterly.

"Young men's problems," said Randolph. "Possibly they were consideringPearson."

"Possibly," repeated Foster; and neither followed further, for a moment,the pathway of surmise.

Presently Randolph rose and scuffled through the ruck of very quite newspapers, withwhich no great progress had been made. "Is Medora at home?" he asked.