By Jove, you know, I _couldn't_ very
well address that one to myself."
"But--but he hadn't won me," stammered Constance Fowler.
"Edith," said Roxbury, deep reproach in his voice, "you wrote me that a
week ago!" Edith merely squeezed his arm.
Odell-Carney came forward and extended his hand. "Permit me to introduce
myself, sir. I am George Odell-Carney. It has given me great pleasure to
serve you without knowing you. In my catalogue of personalities you have
posed intermittently as a demmed bounder, a deceived husband, a betrayed
lover, a successful lover, and a lot of other things I can't just now
recall. Acting on the presumption that you might have been a friend in
distress, I worked hard in your interest. Now I discover, to my
gratification, you are a perfect stranger whom I am proud to meet.
Permit me to offer my warmest felicitations and to assure you that Mr.
Brock will make a splendid brother-in-law." He hesitated a moment and
then went on: "So _you_ are the chap that really put in those c'nfended
memorial windows. 'Pon me word, sir, they are the rottenest--"
"Carney!" came the sharp reminder from his wife.
"I should have said," revised Mr. Odell-Carney, "you are the chap who
played the deuce with the building grafters in the County Council.
Remarkable!"
"Yes," said Roxbury, striving to grasp something of the situation as it
appeared to the other.
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