composure she smiled and extended her slim hand to the American as he
crossed the room with Medcroft's jerky introduction dinging in his ears.

"My old friend Brock, dear. He has consented to be your husband. You've
never met your wife, have you, old man?" A blush spread over her
exquisite face.

"Oh, Roxbury, how embarrassing! He hasn't even proposed to me. So glad
to meet you, Mr. Brock. I've been trying to picture what you would look
like, ever since Roxbury went out to find you. Sit here, please, near
me. Roxbury, has Mr. Brock really fallen into your terrible trap? Isn't
it the most ridiculous proceeding, Mr. Brock--"

"Call him Roxbury, my dear. He's fully prepared for it. And now let's
get down to business. He insists upon talking it over with you. You
don't mind me being present, do you, Brock? I daresay I can help you
out a bit. I've been married four years."

For an hour the trio discussed the situation from all sides and in all
its phases. When Brock arose to take his departure, he was irrevocably
committed to the enterprise; he was, moreover, completely enchanted by
the vista of harmless fun and sweet adventure that stretched before him.
He went away with his head full of the brilliant, quick-witted, loyal
young American who was entering so heartily into the plot to deceive her
own friends for the time being in order that her husband might profit in
high places.

"She _is_ ripping," he said to Medcroft in the hallway. All of the plans
had been made and all of them had been approved by the young wife. She
had shown wonderful perspicacity and foresight in the matter of details;