"In October they
will be married----"
"Heaven forbid!" ejaculated Randolph.
"You have something better to suggest?"
"Nothing better. Something different. Listen, as you yourself say. Next
October I shall call on you, put my hand in my inside pocket, bring out a
letter and read it to you. It will run like this: 'My dear Mr. Randolph,--
You will be pleased, I am sure, to hear that I now have a good position at
the university in this pleasant town. Arthur Lemoyne, whom you recall, is
studying psychology here, and we are keeping house together. He wishes to
be remembered. I thank you for your many kindnesses,'--that is put in as a
mere possibility,--'and also send best regards to Mrs. Phillips and the
members of her household. Sincerely yours, Bertram L. Cope.'"
"I won't accept that!" cried Medora. "He will marry Carolyn, and I shall do
as much for her as I did for Amy, and as much as I expect to do for
Hortense."
"I see. The three matches made and the desolation of the house complete."
"Complete, yes; leaving me alone among the ruins."
"And nothing would rescue you from them but a fourth?"
"Basil, you are not proposing?"
"I scarcely think so," he returned, with slow candor.
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