"
Amy--who was a blonde girl of twenty or more--came back with him pleasantly
and amiably enough; and her aunt--or whatever she should turn out to be--
was soon able to lay her tongue again to the syllables of the interesting
name of Bertram.
Cope, thus finally introduced, repeated the facial expressions which he had
employed already beside the tea-table. But he added no new one; and he
found fewer words than the occasion prompted, and even required. He
continued talking with Mrs. Phillips, and he threw an occasional remark
toward Randolph; but now that all obstacles were removed from free converse
with the divinity of the samovar he had less to say to her than before.
Presently the elder woman, herself no whit offended, began to figure the
younger one as a bit nonplused.
"Never mind, Amy," she said. "Don't pity him, and don't scorn him. He's
really quite self-possessed and quite chatty. Or"--suddenly to Cope
himself--"have you shown us already your whole box of tricks?"
"That must be it," he returned.
"Well, no matter. Mr. Randolph can be nice to a nice girl."
"Oh, come now,----"
"Well, shall I ask you to my house, after this?"
"No.
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