I don't care a hang what you say. I only want 'em to think I'm there. No
doubt our enemies will have a spy or two hanging about to see that I am
actually off for a jaunt with the Rodneys, but they will be Viennese and
they won't know me from Adam. What's the odds, so long as Edith is there
to stand by you? If she's willing to assume that you are her husband--"
"Good Lord!" half shouted Brock, leaping to his feet, wide-eyed. "You
don't mean to say that she is--is--is to go to Vienna with me?"
"Emphatically, yes. She's also invited. Of course, she's going."
"You mean that she's going just as you are going--by proxy?" murmured
Brock helplessly.
"Proxy, the devil! 'Pon my soul, Brock, you're downright stupid. She
can't have a proxy. They know her. The Rodneys are in some way
connections of hers, and all that--third cousins. If she isn't there to
vouch for you, how the deuce can you expect to--"
"Medcroft, you _are_ crazy! No one but an insane man would submit his
wife to--Why, good Lord, man, think of the scandal! She won't have a
shred left--"
"At the proper time the matter will be explained to the Rodneys,--not at
first, you know,--and I'll be in a position to step into your shoes
before the party returns to Paris. Afterwards the whole trick will be
exposed to the world, and she'll be a heroine."
"I'm absolutely paralysed!" mumbled Brock.
"Brace up, old chap.
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