can't have a proxy. They know her. The Rodneys are in some way
connections of hers, and all that--third cousins. If she isn't there to
vouch for you, how the deuce can you expect to--"

"Medcroft, you _are_ crazy! No one but an insane man would submit his
wife to--Why, good Lord, man, think of the scandal! She won't have a
shred left--"

"At the proper time the matter will be explained to the Rodneys,--not at
first, you know,--and I'll be in a position to step into your shoes
before the party returns to Paris. Afterwards the whole trick will be
exposed to the world, and she'll be a heroine."

"I'm absolutely paralysed!" mumbled Brock.

"Brace up, old chap. I'm going to take you around to the Ritz at once to
introduce you to my wife--to your wife, I might say. She'll be waiting
for us, and, take my word for it, she's in for the game. She appreciates
its importance. Come now, Brock, it means so little to you, and it means
everything to me. You will do this for me? For us?"

For ten minutes Brock protested, his argument growing weaker and weaker
as the true humour of the project developed in his mind. He came at last
to realise that Medcroft was in earnest, and that the situation was as
serious as he pictured it. The Englishman's plea was unusual, but it was
not as rattle-brained as it had seemed at the outset. Brock was
beginning to see the possibilities that the ruse contained; to say the
least, he would be running little or no risk in the event of its
miscarriage. In spite of possible unpleasant consequences, there were
the elements of a rare lark in the enterprise; he felt himself being