The Husbands of Edith | Page 7

know, even though it escaped for the
moment."
"Three weeks."
"Three weeks?" He almost reeled.
"That's a long time in these days of speedy divorces," said Medcroft
blandly.
CHAPTER II
THE SISTER-IN-LAW

The Gare de l'Est was thronged with people when Brock appeared,
fully half an hour before departing time. In no little dismay, he found
himself wondering if the whole of Paris was going away or, on the
other hand, if the rest of the continent was arriving. He felt a fool in
Medcroft's unspeakable checked suit; and the eyeglass was a much
more obstinate, untractable thing than he had even suspected it could be.
The right side of his face was in a condition of semi-paralysis due to
the muscular exactions required; he had a sickening fear that the scowl
that marked his brow was destined to form a perpetual alliance with the
smirk at the corner of his nose, forever destroying the symmetry of his
face. If one who has not the proper facial construction will but attempt
the feat of holding a monocle in place for unbroken hours, he may
come to appreciate at least one of the trials which beset poor Brock.
Every one seemed to be staring at him. He heard more than one
American in the scurrying throng say to another, "English," and he felt
relieved until an Englishman or two upset his confidence by brutally
alluding to him as a "confounded American toady."
It was quite train time before Mrs. Medcroft was seen hurrying in from
the carriage way, pursued by a trio of facteurs, laden with bags and
boxes.
"Don't shake hands," she warned in a quick whisper, as they came
together. "I recognised you by the clothes."
"Thank God, it wasn't my face!" he cried. "Are your trunks checked?"
"Yes,--this afternoon. I have nothing but the bags. You have the tickets?
Then let us get aboard. I just couldn't get here earlier," she whispered
guiltily. "We had to say good-by, you know. Poor old Roxy! How he
hated it! I sent Burton and O'Brien on ahead of me. My sister brought
them here in her carriage, and I daresay they're aboard and abed by this
time. You didn't see them? But of course you wouldn't know my maids.
How stupid of me! Don't be alarmed. They have their instructions,
Roxbury. Doesn't it sound odd to you?"
Brock was icy-cold with apprehension as they walked down the line of

_wagon-lits_ in the wake of the bag-bearers. Mrs. Medcroft was as
self-possessed and as _dégagé_ as he was ill at ease and awkward. As
they ascended the steps of the carriage, she turned back to him and said,
with the most malicious twinkle in her eyes,--
"I'm not a bit nervous."
"But you've been married so much longer than I have," he responded.
Then came the disposition of the bags and parcels. She calmly directed
the porters to put the overflow into the upper berth. The garde came up
to remonstrate in his most rapid French.
"But where is M'sieur to sleep if the bags go up there?" he argued.
Mrs. Medcroft dropped her toilet bag and turned to Brock with startled
eyes, her lips parted. He was standing in the passage, his two bags at
his feet, an aroused gleam in his eyes. A deep flush overspread her face;
an expression of utter rout succeeded the buoyancy of the moment
before.
"Really," she murmured and could go no farther. The loveliest pucker
came into her face. Brock waved the garde aside.
"It's all right," he explained. "I shan't occupy the--I mean, I'll take one
of the other compartments." As the garde opened his lips to protest, she
drew Brock inside the compartment and closed the door. Mrs. Medcroft
was agitated.
"Oh, what a wretched contretemps!" she cried in despair. "Roxy has
made a frightful mess of it, after all. He has not taken a compartment
for you. I'm--I'm afraid you'll have to take this one and--and let me go
in with--"
"Nonsense!" he broke in. "Nothing of the sort! I'll find a bed, never fear.
I daresay there's plenty of room on the train. You shan't sleep with the
servants. And don't lie awake blaming poor old Rox. He's lonesome
and unhappy, and he--"

"But he has a place to sleep," she lamented. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Brock.
It's perfectly horrid, and I'm--I'm dreadfully afraid you won't be able to
get a berth. Roxbury tried yesterday for a lower for himself."
"And he--couldn't get one?"
"No, Mr. Brock. But I'll ask the maids to give up their--"
"Please, please don't worry--and please don't call me Mr. Brock. I hate
the name. Good night! Now don't think about me. I'll be all right. You'll
find me as gay as a lark in the morning."
He