There was no condition involved which could not be explained to
her credit; adequate compensation for the merry sacrifice was to be had
in the brief detachment from rigid English conventionality, in the
hazardous injection of quixotism into an otherwise overly healthful life
of platitudes. Society had become the sepulchre of youthful
inspirations; she welcomed the resurrection. The exquisite delicacy with
which she analysed the cost and computed the interest won for her the
warmest regard of her husband's friend, fellow conspirator in a plot
which involved the subtlest test of loyalty and honour.
"Yes," said Medcroft simply. "You won't have reason to change your
opinion, Brock." He hesitated for a moment and then burst out, rather
plaintively: "She's an awfully good sort, demme, she is. And so are you,
Brock,--it's mighty decent of you. You're the only man in all the world
that I could or would have asked to do this for me. You are my best
friend, Brock,--you always have been." He seized the American's hand and
wrung it fervently. Their eyes met in a long look of understanding and
confidence.
"I'll take good care of her," said Brock quietly.
"I know you will. Good-by, then. I'll see you late this afternoon. You
leave this evening at seven-twenty by the Orient Express. I've had the
reservations booked and--and--" He hesitated, a wry smile on his lips,
"I daresay you won't mind making a pretence of looking after the luggage
a bit, will you?"
"I shall take this opportunity to put myself in training against the day
when I may be travelling away with a happy bride of my own.
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