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 friendship 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--"

"Heavens!" exclaimed Freddie, in disgust. "You needn't do that. I've
already proposed to her five or six times."

"And she--she is undecided?" cried Brock, his eyes darkening.

"No, hang it all, she's _not_ undecided. She's said _no_ every time.
That's why I'm up a tree, so to speak."

"Oh?" was all that Brock said. Of course she couldn't love a creature of
Freddie's stamp! He gloated!

"'Gad, you're a lucky dog, Roxbury," went on Freddie enviously. "Money
isn't everything. You're married to one of the prettiest and most
fascinating women in the world. She's a wonder. You can't blame me for
wanting your wife as a sister-in-law. Now, can you? And that kid! You
lucky dog!"

CHAPTER V

THE FRIENDS OF THE FAMILY

Brock discovered in due time that he was living in a lofty but uncertain
place, among the clouds of exaltation. It was not until the close of the
succeeding day that he began to lower himself grudgingly from the height
to which Freddie's ill-mannered confession had led him. By that time he
satisfactorily had convinced himself that no one but a fool could have
suspected Constance of being in love with Ulstervelt; and yet, on the
other hand, was he any better off for this cheerful argument? There was
nothing to prove that she cared for him, notwithstanding this agreeable
conclusion by contrast. As a matter of fact, he came earthward with a
rush, weighted down by the conviction that she did not care a rap for
him except as a conveniently moral brother-in-l