“Well, the poodle likes him, anyway,” protested Mr. Rodney, who liked Brock; “and if a dog likes a man he’s not altogether a bad lot.  If I were you, I wouldn’t spread the report.”

“Spread it!” she sniffed indignantly.  “Are they not my own cousins?  Twice removed,” she concluded as an after-thought.  “Do you imagine that I would spread it?  He may be an unnatural father, but I shall not be the one to say so.  Please bear that in mind, Alfred.”

“Well, let’s not argue about it,” said Mr. Rodney, departing before she could disobey the injunction.

Of course, there was no little confusion at the Hotel Tyrol when it came to establishing the Medcrofts.  For a while it looked as though Brock would have to share a room with Tootles, relegating Burton to an alcove and a couch; but Constance, in a strictly family conclave, was seized by an inspiration which saved the day—­or the night, more properly speaking.

“I have it, Roxbury,” she cried, her eyes dancing.  “You can sleep on the balcony.  A great many invalids do, you know.”

“But, good heaven, I’m not an invalid,” he remonstrated feebly.

“Of course, you’re not, but can’t you say you are?  It’s quite simple.  You sleep in the open air because it does your lungs so much good.  Oh, I know!  It isn’t necessary to expand your chest like that.  They’re perfectly sound, I daresay.  I should think you’d rather enjoy the fresh air.  Besides, there isn’t a room to be had in the hotel.”

“But suppose it should rain!” he protested, knowing full well he was doomed.

“You poor boy, haven’t you an umbrella?” she cried with such a perfectly entrancing laugh that he would have slept out in a hailstorm to provide recompense.  And so it was settled that he was to sleep in the small balcony just off the baby’s luxurious room, the hotel people agreeing to place a cot there at night in order to oblige the unfortunate guest with the affected lung.

“You are so dear and so agreeable, Roxbury,” purred Mrs. Medcroft, very much relieved.  “If ever I hear of a girl looking for a nice husband, I’ll recommend you.”

“It’s all very nice,” said he with a wry grin, “but I’m hanged if I ought to be expected to remember all of my accomplishments.”  They were sitting in her room, attended by the faithful duenna, Constance.  “First, the eyeglass; then the English language, with which I find I’m most unfamiliar; then a deafness in one of my ears—­I can’t remember which until it’s too late; and now I’m to be a tubercular.  You’ve no idea how hard it is for me to speak English against Odell-Carney.  I’m an out-and-out amateur beside him.  And it’s horribly annoying to have Ulstervelt shouting in my ear loud enough for everybody in the dining-room to hear.  It’s rich, I tell you, and if I didn’t love you so devotedly, Edith, I’d be on my way at this very instant.  There!  I feel better.  ‘On my way’ is the first American line I’ve had in the farce since we left Stuttgart.  By the way, Edith, I’m afraid I’ll have to punch Odell-Carney’s confounded head before long.  He’s getting to be so friendly to me as Roxbury Medcroft that I can’t endure him as Brock.”