"Oh, by Jove, are _you_ the fellow who put those new windows in the
Chaucer Memorial Hall? 'Pon me soul! Are you the man who did that?"
There was no mistaking his manner; he was distinctly annoyed.

Brock faced the storm coolly, for his friend Medcroft's sake. "I am
Roxbury Medcroft, if that's what you mean, Mr. Odell-Carney."

"I know you're Medcroft, but, hang it all, wot I asked was, did you
design those windows? 'Gad, sir, they're the laughing sensation of the
age. Where the devil did you get such ideas--eh, wot?" His wife had
calmly, diplomatically intervened.

"I hate that man," said Mrs. Medcroft to her supposed husband a few
minutes later. There was a dangerous red in her cheeks, and she was
breathing quickly. Brock gave an embarrassed laugh and mentioned
something audibly about a "stupid ass."

The entire party left on the following day for Innsbruck, where Mr.
Rodney already had reserved the better part of a whole floor for himself
and guests. Mr. Odell-Carney, before they left Munich, brought himself
to the point of apologising to Brock for his peppery remarks. He was
sorry and all that, and he hoped they'd be friends; but the windows were
atrocious, there was no getting around that. His wife smoothed it over
with Edith by confiding to her the lamentable truth that poor
Odell-Carney hadn't the remotest idea what he was talking about half of
the time. After carefully looking Edith over and finding her valuably
bright and attractive, she cordially expressed the hope that she would
come to see her in London.