opportunity to secure safe footing in the dark area of uncertainty.  He believed himself capable of diverting the youthful Miss Rodney and his discreet sister-in-law, but he was consumed by an unholy dread of Rodney pere; something told him that this shrewd American business man was not the kind who would have the wool pulled over his eyes by anyone.  Brock felt that the support of Constance was of greater value than that of Edith at any stage or in any emergency.

Besides, he was now quite palpably in love with her!  “I’ve got it bad!” he reflected in sober consideration of his plight.  “But,” came the ironic justification, “I’m able to confine it to the immediate family.  That’s more than most husbands can say.”

The Rodneys descended upon the Bristol at five o’clock, rushing down from the Nord-Bahnhof as if there was not a minute to spare.  Constance pursued Katherine to her room, where they revelled in the delights of a reunion, gradually coming out of its throes as the hour for dressing approached.

“We dine early, dear,” said Constance, “with supper after the opera.  I must be off to dress.”

“I am so eager to meet Mr. Medcroft.  Is he nice?”

“He’s the dearest thing in the world,” cried the other, her cheeks aglow.

“I’m so glad, on Edith’s account.  Most of these English matches turn out abominably,” commented Miss Rodney, who was twenty, very pretty, and very worldly.  “Oh, did I tell you that Freddie Ulstervelt is with us?”

“No!”

“We came across him in Berlin, and dad asked him to join us, if he had nothing better to do, so he said he would.  He was with us in Dresden and Prague and—­don’t you think he’s awfully jolly?”

“Ripping!” said Constance with deplorable fervour.

“How awfully English!  He said he’d seen you in Paris this spring.”

“Yes,” said Miss Fowler, her cheeks going red suddenly.  “I told him you’d asked me to be with you in June.”  She could have cut out her tongue for saying this, but it was too late.  Katherine laughed a trifle hardly after a stiff moment; then a queer light flitted into her eyes,—­the light of awakened opposition.  Constance was saying to herself, “She’s in love with Freddie.  I might have known it.”  Back in her brain lay the memory of Freddie’s violent protestations of love, uttered during those recent days in Paris.  He had threatened to throw himself into the Seine; she remembered that quite well—­and also the fact that he did nothing of the sort, but had a very jolly time at Maxim’s and sent her flowers by way of repentance.  Knowing Freddie so well, it would not have surprised her in the least to find that he had become engaged to Katherine.  His heart was a very flexible organ.

[Illustration:  Katherine]

“Oh,” said Katherine, “I believe he did say that you had mentioned us.”  Of herself she was asking:  “I wonder if she is in love with him!”