not to offend again.

"The first quarrel," cried Constance delightedly. "How nicely you've
made it up. And you've been married less than a week!"

"Roxbury and I didn't have our first quarrel until we'd been married a
year," said Edith reflectively.

"Oh, I say, Edith," exclaimed Brock, with a dark frown, "I'd rather you
wouldn't be forever extolling the good qualities of my predecessor. It's
very bad taste. Very much like the pies mother used to make."

"Silly!" cried Medcroft's wife, now in fine humour.

"Besides, Rox is an Englishman. It would take him a year to produce a
quarrel. The American husband is not so confounded slow. I won't live up
to Roxbury in everything."

It was decided that Constance should greet the Rodneys upon their
arrival; the Medcrofts were not to appear until dinner time. Afterwards
the entire party would attend the opera, which was then in the closing
week. Brock, with splendid prodigality, had taken a box for the final
performance of "Tristan and Isolde." It is not out of place to remark
that Brock loathed the Wagnerian opera; he was of "The Mikado" cult. He
took the seats with a definite purpose in mind to cast the burden of
responsibility upon his wife, who would be forced to extend herself in
the capacity of hostess, giving him the much-needed 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 _père_;