impulsively, even gratefully.

"Eh, what?" gasped Brock, replacing his eyeglass. "Oh, I say, now, 'pon
my word, haw, haw!"

"You've got an American sense of humour, Medcroft, that's what you have.
You recognise the joke that Wagner played on the world. Pardon me for
saying it, sir, but I didn't think it was in an Englishman."

"Haw, haw! Ripping, by Jove! No, no! Not you. I mean the joke. But then,
you see, it's been so long since Wagner played it that even an
Englishman has had time to see the point. Besides, I've lived a bit of
my life in America."

"That accounts for it," said the tactless but sincere Mr. Rodney.

Brock glared so venomously at the intrusive Mr. Ulstervelt upon the
occasion of his next visit to his own box, that Mrs. Medcroft smiled
softly to herself as she turned her face away. A few minutes later she
seized the opportunity to whisper in his ear. Her eyes were sparkling,
and something in her manner bespoke the bated breath.

"You are in love with my sister," was what she said to him. He blushed
convincingly.

"Nonsense!" he managed to reply, but without much persuasiveness.

"But you are. I'm not blind. Anyone can see it. _She_ sees it. Haven't
you sense enough to hide it from her? How do you expect to win?"