"Do you know," said Cope, with a sort of embarrassed laugh, "I feel as if I
were letting myself become the focus of interest. Oughtn't I to do
something to make the talk less personal?"
He glanced about the meagre little room. It gave no cue.
"I'm sure Amy and I are satisfied with the present subject," returned
Medora.
But Cope rose, and gathered his bathrobe--or dressing-gown--about him.
"Wait a moment. I have some photographs I can show you--several of them
came only yesterday. I'll bring them down."
As soon as he had disappeared into the hall, Mrs. Phillips gave a slight
smile and said quickly:
"For heaven's sake, Amy, don't look so concerned, and mournful, and
sympathetic! Anybody might think that, instead of your being my chaperon, I
was yours!"
"He doesn't look at all well," said Amy defensively.
"He might look better; but we can't pity a young man too openly. Pity is
akin to embarrassment, for the pitied."
Cope came down stairs the second time at a lesser pace. He carried a sheaf
of photographs. Some were large and were regularly mounted; others were but
the informal products of snap-shottery.
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