The Husbands of Edith | Page 6

all day for practice with it. And, I say, Brock, don't you think you can
cultivate a--er--little more of an English style of speech? That twang of
yours won't--"
"Heavens, man, I'm to be a low comedian, too," gasped Brock, as he
was fairly pushed onto the shop. Three minutes later they were on the
sidewalk, and Brock was in possession of an object he had scorned
most of all things in the world,--a monocle.
Arm in arm, they sauntered into the Ritz. Medcroft retained his clasp
on his friend's elbow as they went up in the lift, after the fashion of one
who fears that his victim is contemplating flight. As they entered the
comfortable little sitting-room of the suite, a young woman rose
gracefully from the desk at which she had been writing. With perfect
composure she smiled and extended her slim hand to the American as
he crossed the room with Medcroft's jerky introduction dinging in his
ears.
"My old friend Brock, dear. He has consented to be your husband.
You've never met your wife, have you, old man?" A blush spread over
her exquisite face.

"Oh, Roxbury, how embarrassing! He hasn't even proposed to me. So
glad to meet you, Mr. Brock. I've been trying to picture what you
would look like, ever since Roxbury went out to find you. Sit here,
please, near me. Roxbury, has Mr. Brock really fallen into your terrible
trap? Isn't it the most ridiculous proceeding, Mr. Brock--"
"Call him Roxbury, my dear. He's fully prepared for it. And now let's
get down to business. He insists upon talking it over with you. You
don't mind me being present, do you, Brock? I daresay I can help you
out a bit. I've been married four years."
For an hour the trio discussed the situation from all sides and in all its
phases. When Brock arose to take his departure, he was irrevocably
committed to the enterprise; he was, moreover, completely enchanted
by the vista of harmless fun and sweet adventure that stretched before
him. He went away with his head full of the brilliant, quick-witted,
loyal young American who was entering so heartily into the plot to
deceive her own friends for the time being in order that her husband
might profit in high places.
"She is ripping," he said to Medcroft in the hallway. All of the plans
had been made and all of them had been approved by the young wife.
She had shown wonderful perspicacity and foresight in the matter of
details; her capacity for selection and disposal was even more
comprehensive than that of the two men, both of whom were somewhat
staggered by the boldness of more than one suggestion which came
from her fruitful storehouse of romantic ideas. She had grasped the full
humour of the situation, from inception to _dénouement_, and, to all
appearance, was heart and soul deep in the venture, despising the risks
because she knew that succour was always at her elbow in the shape of
her husband's loyal support. There was no condition involved which
could not be explained to her credit; adequate compensation for the
merry sacrifice was to be had in the brief detachment from rigid
English conventionality, in the hazardous injection of quixotism into an
otherwise overly healthful life of platitudes. Society had become the
sepulchre of youthful inspirations; she welcomed the resurrection. The
exquisite delicacy with which she analysed the cost and computed the

interest won for her the warmest regard of her husband's friend, fellow
conspirator in a plot which involved the subtlest test of loyalty and
honour.
"Yes," said Medcroft simply. "You won't have reason to change your
opinion, Brock." He hesitated for a moment and then burst out, rather
plaintively: "She's an awfully good sort, demme, she is. And so are you,
Brock,--it's mighty decent of you. You're the only man in all the world
that I could or would have asked to do this for me. You are my best
friend, Brock,--you always have been." He seized the American's hand
and wrung it fervently. Their eyes met in a long look of understanding
and confidence.
"I'll take good care of her," said Brock quietly.
"I know you will. Good-by, then. I'll see you late this afternoon. You
leave this evening at seven-twenty by the Orient Express. I've had the
reservations booked and--and--" He hesitated, a wry smile on his lips,
"I daresay you won't mind making a pretence of looking after the
luggage a bit, will you?"
"I shall take this opportunity to put myself in training against the day
when I may be travelling away with a happy bride of my own. By the
way, how long am I expected to remain in this state of matrimonial
bliss? That's no small detail, you