The Husbands of Edith Part 11

"By Jove," he muttered, pa.s.sing his hand across his eyes, as if bewildered, "what was I saying to her? Good Lord, has it got to be a habit with me? Was I making love to--_her_?" He departed for the American bar.

Mrs. Rodney had but little sleep that night. She went to bed in a state of worry and uncertainty, oppressed by the shadows which threatened eternal darkness to the fair name of the family--however distantly removed. Katherine's secret had in reality been news to her; she had not paid enough attention to the Medcrofts to notice anything that they did, so long as they did not do it in conjunction with the Odell-Carneys. The Odell-Carneys were her horizon,--morning, noon, and night. And now there was likelihood of that glorious horizon being obscured by a sickening scandal in the vulgar foreground. Inspired by Katherine's dreadful conclusions, the excellent lady set about to observe for herself. During the entire evening she flitted about the hotel and grounds with all the snooping instincts of a Sherlock Holmes.

She lurked, if that is not putting it too theatrically. From unexpected nooks she emerged to view the landscape o'er; by devious paths she led her doubts to the gates of absolute certainty, and then sat down to shudder to her heart's content. It was all true! For four hours she had been trying to get to the spot where she could see with her own eyes, and at last she had come to it. Of course, she had to admit to herself that she did not actually hear Mr. Medcroft tell Constance that he loved her, but it was enough for her that he sat with her in the semi-darkness for two unbroken hours, speaking in tones so low that they might just as well have been whispering so far as her taut ears were concerned.

Moreover, other persons than herself had smilingly nudged each other and referred to the couple as lovers; no one seemed to doubt it--nor to resent it, which is proof that the world loves a lover when it recognises him as one.

Mrs. Rodney also discovered that Mrs. Medcroft went to her room at nine o'clock, at least three hours before the subdued tete-a-tete came to an end. The poor thing doubtless was crying her eyes out, decided Mrs.

Rodney.

And now, after all this, is it to be considered surprising that the distressed mother of Katherine did not sleep well that night? Nor should her wakefulness be laid at the door of the tired Mr. Rodney, who was ever a firm and stentorian sleeper.

Morning came, and with it a horseback ride for Brock and Miss Fowler.

That was enough for Mrs. Rodney; she would hold in no longer. Mrs.

Odell-Carney must be told; she, at least, must have the chance to escape before the storm of scandal broke to muddy her immaculate skirts.

Forthwith the considerate hostess appeared before her guest with a headful of disclosures. She had decided in advance that it would not do to beat about the bush, so to speak; she would come directly to the obnoxious point.

They were in Mrs. Odell-Carney's sitting-room. Mr. Odell-Carney was smoking a cigaret on the balcony, just outside the window. Mrs. Rodney did not know that he was there. It is only natural that he held himself inhospitably aloof: Mrs. Rodney bored him to death. He did not hear all that was poured out between them, but he heard quite enough to cause him something of a pang. He distinctly heard his wife say things to Mrs.

Rodney that she had solemnly avowed she would not say,--things about the Medcroft baby.

It goes without saying that Mrs. Odell-Carney refused to be surprised by the disclosures. She calmly admitted that she had suspected Medcroft of being too fond of his sister-in-law, but, she went on cheerfully, why not? His wife didn't care a rap for him--she _said_ rap and nothing else; Mrs. Medcroft had an affair of her own, dear child; she was not so slow as Mrs. Rodney thought, oh, no. Mrs. Odell-Carney warmed up considerably in defending the not-to-be-pitied Edith. She said she had liked her from the beginning, and more than ever, now that she had really come to the conclusion that her husband was the kind who sets his wife an example by being a bit divaricating himself.

Mrs. Rodney fairly screeched with horror when she heard that Tootles was "a poor little beggar," and "all that sort of thing, you know."

"My dear," said Mrs. Odell-Carney, hating herself all the time for engaging in the spread of gossip, but femininely unable to withstand the test, "your excellent cousin, Mrs. Medcroft, receives two letters a day from London,--great, fat letters which take fifteen minutes to read in spite of the fact that they are written in a perfectly huge hand by a man--a man, d'ye hear? They're not from her husband. He's here. He cannot have written them in London, don't you see? He--"

"I see," inserted Mrs. Rodney, who was afraid that Mrs. Odell-Carney might think she didn't see.

"Mind your Mrs. Rodney, I'm terribly cut up about all this. She has--"

"Oh, I knew you would be," mourned Mrs. Rodney, her heart in her boots.

"You must just hate me for exposing you to--"

"Rubbish!" scoffed the other. "It isn't that. I've been through a dozen affairs in which my best friends were frightfully--er--complicated. I meant to say that I'm terribly cut up over poor Mrs. Medcroft. She's a dear. Believe me, she's a most delicious sinner. Even Carney says that, and he's very fastidious--and very loyal."

"They are married in name only," said Mrs. Rodney, beginning to sniffle.

She looked up and smiled wanly through her tears. "You know what I mean. My grammar is terrible when I'm nervous." She pulled at her handkerchief for a wavering moment. "Do you think I'd better speak to Edith? We may be able to prevent the divorce."

"Divorce, my dear," gasped Mrs. Odell-Carney incredulously.

At this juncture Mr. Odell-Carney emerged from his sh.e.l.l, so to speak.

He stalked through the window and confronted the two ladies, one of whom, at least, was vastly dismayed by his sudden appearance.

"Now, see here," he began without preliminary apology, "I won't hear of a divorce. That's all rubbish--perfect rot, 'pon my soul. Wot's the use?

Hang it all, Mrs. Rodney, wot's the odds, so long as all parties are contented? We can stand it, by Jove, if they can, don't you know. We can't regulate the love affairs of the universe. Besides, I'm not going to stand by and see a friend dragged into a thing of this sort--"

"A friend, Carney," exclaimed his wife.

"Well, it's possible, my dear, that he may be a friend. I know so many chaps in London who might be doing this sort of thing, don't you know.

Who knows but the chap who's writing her these letters may be one of my best friends? It doesn't pay to take a chance on it. I won't hear to it.

If Medcroft knows and his wife knows and Miss Fowler knows, why the deuce should we bother our heads about it? Last night I heard the Medcroft infant bawling its lungs out--teething, I daresay--but did I go in and take a hand in straightening out the poor little beggar? Not I.

By the same token, why should I or anybody else presume to step in and try to straighten out the troubles of its parents? It's useless interference, either way you take it."

"I think it's all very entertaining and diverting," said Mrs.

Odell-Carney carelessly. She yawned.

"Do you really think so?" asked the doubting Mrs. Rodney. "I was so afraid you'd mind. Your position in society, my dear Mrs.--"

"My position in society, Mrs. Rodney, can weather the tempest you predict," said Mrs. Odell-Carney with a smile that went to Mrs. Rodney's marrow.

"Oh, if--if you really don't mind--" she mumbled apologetically.

"Not at all, my dear madam," remarked Odell-Carney, carefully adjusting his eyegla.s.s. "It's quite immaterial, I a.s.sure you."

CHAPTER VI

OTHER RELATIONS

It is but natural to presume, after the foregoing, that the affairs of the Medcrofts were under close and careful scrutiny from that confidential hour. The Odell-Carneys were conspicuously nice and agreeable to the Medcrofts and Miss Fowler. It may be said, indeed, that Mr. Odell-Carney went considerably out of his way to be agreeable to Mrs. Medcroft; so much so, in fact, that she made it a point to have someone else with her whenever she seemed likely to be left alone with him. The Rodneys struggled bravely and no doubt conscientiously to emulate the example set by the Odell-Carneys, but it was hardly to be expected that they could see new things through old-world eyes. They grew very stiff and ceremonious,--that is, the Rodney ladies did. It was their prerogative, of course: were they not cousins of the diseased?

Four or five days of uneasy pretence pa.s.sed with a swiftness that irritated certain members of the party and a slowness that distressed the others. Days never were so short as those which the now recklessly infatuated Brock was spending. He was valiantly earning his way into the heart of Constance,--a process that tried his patience exceedingly, for she was blithely unimpressionable, if one were to judge by the calmness with which she fended off the inevitable though tardy a.s.sault. She kept him at arm's length; appearances demanded a discreetness, no matter how she may secretly have felt toward the good-looking husband of her sister. To say that she was enjoying herself would be putting it much too tamely; she was revelling in the fun of the thing. It mattered little to her that people--her own cousins in particular--were looking upon her with cold and critical eyes; she knew, down in her heart, that she could throw a bomb among them at any time by the mere utterance of a single word. It mattered as little that Edith was beginning to chafe miserably under the strain of waiting and deception; the novelty had worn off for the wife of Roxbury; she was despairingly in love, and she was pining for the day to come when she could laugh again with real instead of simulated joyousness.

"Connie, dear," she would lament a dozen times a day, "it's growing unbearable. Oh, how I wish the three weeks were ended. Then I could have my Roxbury, and you could have my other Roxbury, and everybody wouldn't be pitying me and cavilling at you because I'm unhappily married."

"Why do you say I could have your other Roxbury?" demanded her sister on one occasion. "You forget that father expects me to marry the viscount.

I--"

"You are so tiresome, Connie. Don't worry me with your love affairs--I don't want to hear them. There's Mr. Brock waiting for you in the garden."

"I know it, my dear. He's been waiting for an hour. I think it is good for him to wait," said the other, with airy confidence. "What does Roxy say in his letter this morning?"

"He says it will all be over in a day or two. Dear me, how I wish it were over now! I can't endure Cousin Mary's snippishness much longer, and as for Katherine! My dear, I hate that girl!"

"She's been very nice lately, Edith--ever since Freddie dropped me so completely. By the way, Burton was telling me to-day that Odell-Carney had been asking her some very curious and staggering questions about Tootles and your most private affairs."

"I know, my dear," groaned Edith. "He very politely remarked to me last night that Tootles made him think very strangely of a friend of his in London. He wouldn't mention the fellow's name. He only smiled and said, 'Nevah mind, my dear, he's a c'nfended handsome dog.' I daresay he meant that as a compliment for Tootles. She _is_ pretty, don't you think so, dear?"

"She's just like you, Edith," said Constance, who understood things quite clearly.

"Then, in heaven's name, Connie, why are they staring at her so impolitely--all of them?"

"It's because she is so pretty. Goodness, Edith, don't let every little thing worry you. You'll have wrinkles and grey hairs soon enough."

"It's all very nice for you to talk," grumbled Edith. "I'm going mad with loneliness. You have a lover near you all the time--he's mad about you. What have I? I'm utterly alone. No one loves me--no, not a soul--"