She had heaved the whole of her young
self into the work; she had been buoyed up by Cope's tones, which, with
repetition, had gathered assurance if not expressiveness; and she based her
estimate of the general effect on the impression which her own inner nature
had experienced. And her impression was heightened when Pearson, forging
forward, and ignoring both Cope and Carolyn, thanked her richly and
emphatically for her part--a part which, to him, seemed the whole.
Hortense, who had kept her place behind the large lampshade, twisted her
interlocked fingers and said no word. Foster, who had disposed himself on
an inconspicuous couch, kept his own counsel. After all, _omne
ignotum_: Cope's singing had sounded better from upstairs. At close
range a ringing assertiveness had somehow failed.
Cope had come with no desire to extend his stay beyond the limits of an
evening call. He declined to sing on his own account, and soon rose as if
to make his general adieux.
"You won't give us one of your own songs, then?" asked Medora Phillips, in
a disappointed tone. "And at my dinner----"
No, she could not quite say that, at her dinner, Cope, whatever he had
failed to do, had contributed no measure of entertainment for her guests.
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