it was in an Englishman."

"Haw, haw! Ripping, by Jove! No, no! Not you. I mean the joke. But then,
you see, it's been so long since Wagner played it that even an
Englishman has had time to see the point. Besides, I've lived a bit of
my life in America."

"That accounts for it," said the tactless but sincere Mr. Rodney.

Brock glared so venomously at the intrusive Mr. Ulstervelt upon the
occasion of his next visit to his own box, that Mrs. Medcroft smiled
softly to herself as she turned her face away. A few minutes later she
seized the opportunity to whisper in his ear. Her eyes were sparkling,
and something in her manner bespoke the bated breath.

"You are in love with my sister," was what she said to him. He blushed
convincingly.

"Nonsense!" he managed to reply, but without much persuasiveness.

"But you are. I'm not blind. Anyone can see it. _She_ sees it. Haven't
you sense enough to hide it from her? How do you expect to win?"

"My dear Mrs.--my dear Edith, you amaze me. I'm confusion itself. But,"
he went on eagerly, illogically, "do you think I _could_ win her?"

"That is not for one's wife to say," she said demurely.

"I'd be tremendously proud of you as a sister-in-law. And I'd be much
obliged if you'd help me. But look at that confounded Ulstervelt! He's
making love to her with the whole house looking on."

"I think it might be polite if you were to ask him out for a drink," she
suggested.

"But I've had one and I never take two."

"Model husband! Then take the girls into the foyer for a stroll and a
chat after the act. Don't mind me. I'm your friend."

"Do you think I've got a chance with her?" he asked with a brave effort.

"You've had one wife thrust upon you; why should you expect another
without a struggle? I'm afraid you'll have to work for Constance."

"But I have your--I can count on your approval?" he whispered eagerly.

"Don't, Roxbury! People will think you are making love to _me_!" she
protested, wilfully ignoring his question.

He returned to the box after the second act and proposed a turn in the
foyer. To his disgust, Ulstervelt appropriated Constance and left him
to follow with Mrs. Rodney and Katherine. He almost hated Edith for the
tantalising smile she shot after him as he moved away, defeated.

If he was glaring luridly at the irrepressible Freddie, he was not alone
in his gloom. Katherine Rodney, green with jealousy, was sending
spiteful glances after her dearest frien