THE HUSBANDS OF EDITH




CHAPTER I

HUSBANDS AND WIFE


Brock was breakfasting out-of-doors in the cheerful little garden of the
Hôtel Chatham. The sun streamed warmly upon the concrete floor of the
court just beyond the row of palms and oleanders that fringed the rail
against which his _Herald_ rested, that he might read as he ran, so to
speak. He was the only person having _déjeuner_ on the "terrace," as he
named it to the obsequious waiter who always attended him. Charles was
the magnet that drew Brock to the Chatham (that excellent French hotel
with the excellent English name). It is beside the question to remark
that one is obliged to reverse the English when directing a _cocher_ to
the Chatham. The Paris cabman looks blank and more than usually
unintelligent when directed to drive to the Chatham, but his face
radiates with joy when his fare is inspired to substitute Sha-_t'am_,
with distinct emphasis on the final syllable. Then he cracks his whip
and lashes his sorry nag, with passive appreciation of his own
astuteness, all the way to the Rue Daunou. The street is so short that