He halted just inside the door and looked about
in momentary bewilderment.
"This is a private--" began the manager, stepping forward. A flying
figure sped past him; a delighted little shriek rang in his ears. He saw
Edith Medcroft hurl herself into the arms of her own husband. At the
same moment Brock bounded across the room and pounced eagerly upon the
welcome intruder.
"Good Gawd!" gasped Odell-Carney. "Wot's all this?" His wife suddenly
began fanning herself, searching for breath.
"_This_ is my husband!" cried Edith, triumph in her voice, tears in her
eyes, as she faced the astonished observers. "Now, what have you to
say?"
It was a perfectly natural but not an especially obvious question. The
little manager threw up his hands and cried out in a sad mixture of
French, English and Helvetian,--
"What? Another husband? Madam, how many more do you propose to inflict
us with? We cannot allow it! The management will not permit you to
change husbands the instant a new guest arrives in the house. It is not
to be heard of--no, no!"
"Are you afraid that the books won't balance?" asked Brock with a joyous
grin, a great load off his heart. "Ladies and gentlemen, permit me to
introduce Mr. Roxbury Medcroft, my friend and fellow conspirator. He is
the husband of this lady, not I. I am to be the husband of _this_ lady,
thank God."
There was a moment of absolute silence--it may have been stupor.
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