Is it, therefore, surprising that he required a great deal of time to
tell all that he felt? It was not so much of what he did that he spoke
at such great length, but of what he felt.

"'Pon me soul," he exploded in the end, twisting his mustache with
nervous energy, "it was the demdest nap I ever had. I didn't close my
eyes, c'nfend me if I did."

While Odell-Carney was studiously adjusting his eyeglass for a final
glare at an unoffending 'bus boy who almost dropped his tray of plates
in consequence, Mr. Rodney fussily intervened and introduced the
Medcrofts. Mrs. Odell-Carney was delightfully gracious; she was sure
that no nicer party could have been "got together." Her husband may have
been excessively slow in most things, but he was quick to recognise and
appreciate feminine beauty of face and figure. He unbent at once in the
presence of the unmistakably handsome Fowler sisters; his expressive
"chawmed" was in direct contrast to his ordinary manner of acknowledging
an introduction.

"Mr. Medcroft is the famous architect, you know," explained the anxious
Mrs. Rodney.

"Oh, yes, I know," drawled Mr. Odell-Carney. "You American architects
are doing great things, 'pon my soul," he added luminously. Brock stuck
his eyeglass in tighter and hemmed with raucous precision. Mrs. Medcroft
stiffened perceptibly.

"Oh, but he's Mr. Roxbury Medcroft, the great English architect," cried
Mrs. Rodney, in some little confusion. Odell-Carney suddenly remembered.
He glared hard at Brock; the Rodneys saw signs of disaster.