mplored his forgiveness, and said that
she was miserable and ashamed and very unappreciative. Brock, in deep
humility, begged her pardon for his unnecessary harshness, and promised
not to offend again.

"The first quarrel," cried Constance delightedly. "How nicely you've
made it up. And you've been married less than a week!"

"Roxbury and I didn't have our first quarrel until we'd been married a
year," said Edith reflectively.

"Oh, I say, Edith," exclaimed Brock, with a dark frown, "I'd rather you
wouldn't be forever extolling the good qualities of my predecessor. It's
very bad taste. Very much like the pies mother used to make."

"Silly!" cried Medcroft's wife, now in fine humour.

"Besides, Rox is an Englishman. It would take him a year to produce a
quarrel. The American husband is not so confounded slow. I won't live up
to Roxbury in everything."

It was decided that Constance should greet the Rodneys upon their
arrival; the Medcrofts were not to appear until dinner time. Afterwards
the entire party would attend the opera, which was then in the closing
week. Brock, with splendid prodigality, had taken a box for the final
performance of "Tristan and Isolde." It is not out of place to remark
that Brock loathed the Wagnerian opera; he was of "The Mikado" cult. He
took the seats with a definite purpose in mind to cast the burden of
responsibility upon his wife, who would be forced to extend herself in
the capacity of hostess, giving him the much-needed opportunity to
secure safe footing in the dark area of uncertainty. He believed himself
capable of diverting the youthful Miss Rodney and his discreet
sister-in-law, but he was consumed by an unholy dread of Rodney _pere_;
something told him that this shrewd American business man was not the
kind who would have the wool pulled over his eyes by anyone. Brock felt
that the support of Constance was of greater value than that of Edith at
any stage or in any emergency.

Besides, he was now quite palpably in love with her! "I've got it bad!"
he reflected in sober consideration of his plight. "But," came the
ironic justification, "I'm able to confine it to the immediate family.
That's more than most husbands can say."

The Rodneys descended upon the Bristol at five o'clock, rushing down
from the Nord-Bahnhof as if there was not a minute to spare. Constance
pursued Katherine to her room, where they revelled in the delights of a
reunion, gradually coming out of its throes