omments upon the
extraordinary attitude of a supposedly conservative Englishman of
recognised ability, he was tried almost beyond endurance. For the next
two or three days the newspapers printed caustic contributions from
fellow architects and builders, in each of which the luckless Medcroft
was taken to task for advocating an impractical and fatuous New York
hobby in the way of construction,--something that staid old London would
not even tolerate or discuss. The social chroniclings of the Medcrofts
in Vienna, as despatched by the correspondents, offset this unhappy
"bull" to some extent, in so far as Medcroft's peace of mind was
concerned, but nothing could have drawn attention to the fact that he
was not in London at that particular time so decisively as the Vienna
interview and its undefended front. Even his shrewdest enemy could not
have suspected Medcroft of a patience which would permit him to sit
quiet in London while the attacks were going on. He found some small
solace in the reflection that he could make the end justify the means.

On their return to the Bristol, Brock and Miss Fowler found the fair
Edith in a pitiful state of collapse. She declared over and over again
that she could not face the Rodneys; it was more than should be expected
of her; she was sure that something would go wrong; why, oh, why was it
necessary to deceive the Rodneys? Why should they be kept in the dark?
Why wasn't Roxbury there to counsel wisely--and more, _ad infinitum_,
until the distracted pair were on the point of deserting the cause. She
finally dissolved into tears, and would not listen to reason,
expostulation, or persuasion. It was then that Brock cruelly but
effectively declared his intention to abdicate, as he also had a
reputation to preserve. Whereupon, with a fine sense of distinction, she
flared up and accused him of treachery to his best friend, Roxbury
Medcroft, who was reposing the utmost confidence in his friendship and
loyalty. How could she be expected to go on with the play if he, the man
upon whom everything depended, was to turn tail in a critical hour like
this?

"How can you have the heart to spoil everything?" she cried indignantly.
He looked at her in fresh amazement. "Roxbury would never forgive you.
We have both placed the utmost confidence in you, Mr. Brock, and--"

"'Sh! Say 'Roxbury, dear'!" interposed the practical Constance. "The
walls may have ears, my dears."

Then Mrs. Medcroft plaintively i