Don't. Forbid it. Banish me."
"Give one more chance," suggested Randolph sedately.
"Why, what's all this about?" said the questioning glance of Amy. If there
was any offense at all, on anybody's part, it lay in making too much of too
little.
"Take back my plate, somebody," said Mrs. Phillips.
Randolph put out his hand for it.
"This sandwich," said Amy, reaching for an untouched square of wheat bread
and pimento. "I've been so busy with other people...."
"I'll take it myself," declared Mrs. Phillips, reaching out in turn. "Mr.
Randolph, bring her a nibble of something."
"_I_ might----" began Cope.
"You don't deserve the privilege."
"Oh, very well," he returned, lapsing into an easy passivity.
"Never mind, anyway," said Amy, still without cognomen and connections; "I
can starve with perfect convenience. Or I can find a mouthful somewhere,
later."
"Let us starve sitting," said Randolph, "Here are chairs."
The hostess herself came bustling up brightly.
"Has everybody...?"
And she bustled away.
"Yes; everybody--almost," said Mrs. Phillips to her associates, behind
their entertainer's back.
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