The Husbands of Edith Part 8

"Oh, but he's Mr. Roxbury Medcroft, the great English architect," cried Mrs. Rodney, in some little confusion. Odell-Carney suddenly remembered.

He glared hard at Brock; the Rodneys saw signs of disaster.

"Oh, by Jove, are _you_ the fellow who put those new windows in the Chaucer Memorial Hall? 'Pon me soul! Are you the man who did that?"

There was no mistaking his manner; he was distinctly annoyed.

Brock faced the storm coolly, for his friend Medcroft's sake. "I am Roxbury Medcroft, if that's what you mean, Mr. Odell-Carney."

"I know you're Medcroft, but, hang it all, wot I asked was, did you design those windows? 'Gad, sir, they're the laughing sensation of the age. Where the devil did you get such ideas--eh, wot?" His wife had calmly, diplomatically intervened.

"I hate that man," said Mrs. Medcroft to her supposed husband a few minutes later. There was a dangerous red in her cheeks, and she was breathing quickly. Brock gave an embarra.s.sed laugh and mentioned something audibly about a "stupid a.s.s."

The entire party left on the following day for Innsbruck, where Mr.

Rodney already had reserved the better part of a whole floor for himself and guests. Mr. Odell-Carney, before they left Munich, brought himself to the point of apologising to Brock for his peppery remarks. He was sorry and all that, and he hoped they'd be friends; but the windows were atrocious, there was no getting around that. His wife smoothed it over with Edith by confiding to her the lamentable truth that poor Odell-Carney hadn't the remotest idea what he was talking about half of the time. After carefully looking Edith over and finding her valuably bright and attractive, she cordially expressed the hope that she would come to see her in London.

"We must know each other better, my dear Mrs. Medcroft," she had said amiably. Edith thought of the famous drawing-rooms in Mayfair and exulted vastly. "And Mr. Medcroft, too. I am so interested in men who have a craft. They always are worth while, really, don't you know. How like an American Mr. Medcroft is. I daresay he gets that from having lived so long with an American wife. And what a darling baby! She's wonderfully like Mr. Medcroft, don't you think? No one could mistake that child's father--never! And, my dear," leaning close with a whimsical air of confidence, "that's more than can be said of certain children I know of in very good families."

Edith may have gasped and looked wildly about in quest of help, but her agitation went unnoticed by the new friend. From that momentous hour Mrs. Medcroft encouraged an inordinate regard for the circ.u.mspect. She decided that it was best never to be alone with her husband; the future was now too precious to go unguarded for a single moment that might be unexplainable when the triumphal hour of revelation came to hand. She impressed this fact upon her sister, with the result that while Brock was never alone with his prudent wife, he was seldom far from the side of the adorable lieutenant. As if precociously providing for an ultimate alibi, the fickle Tootles began to show unmistakable signs of aversion for her temporary parent. Mrs. Rodney, being an old-fas.h.i.+oned mother, could not reconcile herself to this unfilial att.i.tude, and gravely confided to her husband that she feared Medcroft was mistreating his child behind their backs.

"Well, the poodle likes him, anyway," protested Mr. Rodney, who liked Brock; "and if a dog likes a man he's not altogether a bad lot. If I were you, I wouldn't spread the report."

"Spread it!" she sniffed indignantly. "Are they not my own cousins?

Twice removed," she concluded as an after-thought. "Do you imagine that _I_ would spread it? He may be an unnatural father, but I shall not be the one to say so. Please bear that in mind, Alfred."

"Well, let's not argue about it," said Mr. Rodney, departing before she could disobey the injunction.

Of course, there was no little confusion at the Hotel Tyrol when it came to establis.h.i.+ng the Medcrofts. For a while it looked as though Brock would have to share a room with Tootles, relegating Burton to an alcove and a couch; but Constance, in a strictly family conclave, was seized by an inspiration which saved the day--or the night, more properly speaking.

"I have it, Roxbury," she cried, her eyes dancing. "You can sleep on the balcony. A great many invalids do, you know."

"But, good heaven, I'm not an invalid," he remonstrated feebly.

"Of course, you're not, but can't you _say_ you are? It's quite simple.

You sleep in the open air because it does your lungs so much good. Oh, I know! It isn't necessary to expand your chest like that. They're perfectly sound, I daresay. I should think you'd rather enjoy the fresh air. Besides, there isn't a room to be had in the hotel."

"But suppose it should rain!" he protested, knowing full well he was doomed.

"You poor boy, haven't you an umbrella?" she cried with such a perfectly entrancing laugh that he would have slept out in a hailstorm to provide recompense. And so it was settled that he was to sleep in the small balcony just off the baby's luxurious room, the hotel people agreeing to place a cot there at night in order to oblige the unfortunate guest with the affected lung.

"You are so dear and so agreeable, Roxbury," purred Mrs. Medcroft, very much relieved. "If ever I hear of a girl looking for a nice husband, I'll recommend you."

"It's all very nice," said he with a wry grin, "but I'm hanged if I ought to be expected to remember all of my accomplishments." They were sitting in her room, attended by the faithful duenna, Constance.

"First, the eyegla.s.s; then the English language, with which I find I'm most unfamiliar; then a deafness in one of my ears--I can't remember which until it's too late; and now I'm to be a tubercular. You've no idea how hard it is for me to speak English against Odell-Carney. I'm an out-and-out amateur beside him. And it's horribly annoying to have Ulstervelt shouting in my ear loud enough for everybody in the dining-room to hear. It's rich, I tell you, and if I didn't love you so devotedly, Edith, I'd be on my way at this very instant. There! I feel better. 'On my way' is the first American line I've had in the farce since we left Stuttgart. By the way, Edith, I'm afraid I'll have to punch Odell-Carney's confounded head before long. He's getting to be so friendly to me as Roxbury Medcroft that I can't endure him as Brock."

"I--I don't understand," murmured Edith plaintively. Constance looked up with a new interest in her ever sprightly face.

"Well, you see, he's working so hard to square himself with Medcroft for the break he made about the windows, that he's taking his spite out on all American architects. Confound him, he persists in saying I'm all right, but G.o.d deliver him from those demmed rotters, the American builders. He says he wouldn't let one of us build a hencoop for him, much less a dog kennel. Oh, I say, Connie, don't laugh! How would you like it if--" But both of them were laughing at him so merrily that he joined them at once. Burton and O'Brien, who had come in, were smiling discreetly.

"Come, Roxbury, what do you say to a good long walk?" cried Constance.

"I must talk to you seriously about a great many things, beginning with egotism." He set forth with alacrity, rejoicing in spite of his limitations.

Upon their return from the delightful stroll along the mountain side, she went at once to her room to dress for dinner. Brock, more deeply in love than ever before, lighted a cigar and seated himself in the gallery, dubiously retrospective in his meditations. He was sorely disturbed by her almost constant allusion to Freddie Ulstervelt and his "amazingly attractive ways." Was it possible that she could be really in love with that insignificant little whipper-snapper? He seemed to be propounding this doleful question to the lofty, sphinx-like Waldraster-Spitze, looming dark in the path of the south.

"h.e.l.lo!" exclaimed a voice close to his ear,--the fresh, confident voice that he knew so well. "I've been looking for you everywhere." Freddie drew up a chair and sat down at his "good side." The young man appeared to have something weighty on his mind. Brock s.h.i.+fted uneasily. "I want to put it up to you, Mr. Medcroft, as man to man. You are Connie's brother-in-law and you ought to be able to set me straight."

"Ah, I see," said Brock vaguely.

"You do?" queried the other, surprise and doubt in his face.

"No, I should say I don't, don't you see," subst.i.tuted Brock.

"I was wondering how you _could_ have seen. It's a matter I haven't discussed with anyone. I've come to have a liking for you, Roxbury.

You're my sort; you have a sort of New York feeling about you. I'm sure you're enough of a sport to give me unprejudiced advice. Hands across the sea, see? Well, to get right down to the point, old man,--you'll pardon my plain speech,--I think Constance ought to marry an American."

Brock sat up very straight. "I think that's--that's a matter for Miss Fowler to determine," he said coldly.

"You don't quite get my meaning," persisted Freddie, crossing his legs comfortably. "I was trying to make it easy for myself."

"You mean, you think she ought to marry you?"

"That's it, precisely. How clever you are."

"But you are said to be engaged to Miss Rodney," ventured Brock, feeling his way.

"That's just the point, Mr. Medcroft. We're not really engaged--but almost. As a matter of fact, we've got to the point where it's really up to me to speak to her father about it, don't you know. Luckily, I haven't."

"Luckily?"

"Yes. That would have committed me, don't you see. I've been tentatively engaged more than a dozen times, but never quite up to the girl's father. Now, I don't mind telling you that I've changed my mind about Katherine. She's a jolly good sort, but she's not just _my_ sort. I thought she was, but--well, you know how it is yourself. The heart's a d.a.m.ned queer organ. Mine has gone back to Constance in the last two days. You are her brother-in-law, and you're a good fellow, through and through. I want your help. I've got money to burn, and the family's got position in the States. I can take care of her as she should be taken care of. No little old six-room flat for her. But, of course, you understand, I can't quite carry the thing through with Katherine still feeling herself attached, as it were. The thing to decide is this: how best can I let Katherine down easily and take on Connie without putting myself in a rather hazardous position? I'm a gentleman, you see, and I can't do anything downright rotten. It wouldn't do. I'm sure, in her heart, Connie cares for me. I could make her understand me better if I had half the chance. But a fellow can't get near her nowadays. Don't you think you are carrying the family link too far? Now, what I want to ask of you, as a friend, is this: will you put in a good word for me every chance you get? I'll square myself with Katherine all right. Of course, you'll understand, I don't want to actually break with Katherine until I'm reasonably sure of Constance. I'm a guest of the Rodney family, you see. It would be downright indecent of me. No, sir! I'm not that sort. I shouldn't think of ending it all with Katherine so long as we are both guests of her father. I'd wait until the end of next week."

Brock had listened in utter amazement to the opening portion of this ingenuous proposal. As the flexile youth progressed, amazement gave place to indignation and then to disgust. Brock's brow grew dark; the impulse to pull his countryman's nose was hard to overcome. Never in all his life had he listened to such a frankly cold-blooded argument as that put forth by the insufferable Knicker-bocker. In the end the big New Yorker saw only the laughable side of the little New Yorker's plight.

After all, he was a harmless egoist, from whom no girl could expect much in the way of recompense. It mattered little who the girl of the moment might be, she could not hope to or even seek to hold his perambulatory affections. "He's a single example of a great New York cla.s.s," reflected Brock. "The futile, priggish rich! There are thousands like him in my dear New York--conscienceless, invertebrate, sybaritic sons of idleness, college-bred and under-bred little beasts who can buy and then cast off at their pleasure. They have no means of knowing how to fall in love with a good girl. They have not been trained to it. It is not for their scrambled intellects to discriminate between the chorus-girl brand of attack and the subtle wooing of a gentlewoman. They can't a.n.a.lyse--they can't feel! And this insipid, egotistical little bounder is actually sitting there and asking me to help him with the girl I love! Good Lord, what next?" He surveyed the eager Ulstervelt in the most irritating manner, finally laughing outright in his face. The very thought of him as Connie's accepted lover! She, the adorable, the splendid, the unapproachable! It was excruciatingly funny!

"Oh, I say, old man," cried Freddie, when the disconcerting laugh came, "don't laugh! It's no d.a.m.ned joke."

"'Pon my soul, Ulstervelt," apologised Brock, with a magnanimous smile, "I haven't said it was a joke. You--"

"Then, what are you laughing at? Something you heard yesterday?" with fine scorn. Brock stared hard at the flushed, boyish face of the other; it was weak and yet as hard as bra.s.s, hard with the overbearing confidence of the spoiled child of wealth.

"See here, Ulstervelt," he said with sudden coldness, "you're asking my help. That's no way to get it."

"I beg pardon! I don't mean to be rude," apologised Freddie. "But, I say, old man, I'll make it worth your while. My father's got stacks of coin, and he's a power in New York. Odell-Carney's right. American architects can't design good hencoops. What we want in New York is a rattling good, up-to-date Englishman or two to show 'em a few things.

They're a lot of muckers over there, take it from me. By Jove, Roxbury, you don't know how I'd appreciate your friends.h.i.+p in this matter. It will simplify things immensely. You'll speak a good word for me when the time comes, now, won't you?"

"You want me to do you a good turn," said Brock slowly. He found himself grinning with a malicious joy. "All right, I'll see to it that Miss Rodney doesn't marry you, my boy. I'll attend to her."

"Just a minute," interrupted Freddie quickly. "Don't be too hasty about that. I want to be sure of Constance first."

"I see. I was just about to add that I'll give Constance a strong hint that one of the most gallant young sparks in New York is likely to propose to her before the end of the week. That will--"