He dragged his stiff legs into the dining-car at Stuttgart and shoved them under a table. The car was quite empty. As he was staring blankly at the menu, the _conducteur_ from his car hurried in with the word that Madame would not breakfast until nine. She was still very sleepy. Would Monsieur Medcroft be good enough to order her coffee and rolls brought to her compartment at that hour? And would he mind seeing that the maid saw to it that Raggles surely had his biscuit and a walk at the next station?
"Raggles?" queried Brock, pa.s.sing his hand over his brow. The other shrugged his shoulders and looked askance. "Oh, yes,--I--understand,"
murmured the puzzled one, recovering himself. For the next ten minutes he wondered who Raggles could be.
He had eaten his strawberries and was waiting for the eggs and coffee, resentfully eying the early risers who were now coming in for their coffee and rolls. They had slept--he could tell by the complacent manner in which their hair was combed and by the interest they found in the scenery which he had come, by tedious familiarity, to loathe and scorn.
The actions of two young women near the door attracted his attention.
From their actions he suddenly gathered that they were discussing him,--and in a more or less facetious fashion, at that. They whispered and looked shy and grinned in a most disconcerting manner. He turned red about the ears and began to wonder, fiercely, why his eggs and coffee were so slow in coming. Then, to his consternation, the young women, plainly of the serving-cla.s.s, bore down upon him with abashed smiles. He noticed for the first time that one of them was carrying a very small child in her arms; as she came alongside, grinning sheepishly, she extended the small one toward the astounded Brock, and said in excellent old English:
[Ill.u.s.tration: Brock]
"Good morning, Mr. Medcroft." Then, with a rare inspiration, "Baby, kiss papa--come, now."
She pushed the infant almost into Brock"s face. He did not observe that it was a beautiful child and that it had a look of terror in its eyes; he only knew that he was glaring wildly at the fiendish nurse, the truth slowly beating its way into his be-addled brain. For a full minute he stared as if petrified. Then, administering a sickly grin, he sought to bring his wits up to the requirements of the extraordinary situation. He lifted his hand and mumbled: "Come, Raggles! I haven"t a biscuit, but here, have a roll, do. Give me a--a kiss!" He added the last in most heroic surrender.
The nurse and the maid stared hard at him; the baby turned in affright to cling closely to the neck of the former.
"Good Lord, sir," whispered the nurse, with a nervous glance about her; "this ain"t Raggles, sir. _This_ is a baby."
"Do you think I"m blind, madam?" whispered he, savagely. "I can see it"s a baby, but I didn"t know there was to be one. Its father didn"t mention it to me."
"It"s a wise father that knows his own child," said the nurse, with prompt sarcasm.
"I think they should have prepared me for this," growled he. "Is it supposed to be mine? Does--does Mrs. Medcroft know about it?"
"You mean, about the baby, sir? Of course she does. It"s hers. Please don"t look so odd, sir. My word, sir, I didn"t know you didn"t know it, sir. I wasn"t told, was I, O"Brien? There, sir, you see! Mrs. Medcroft said as I was to bring Tootles in to you, sir. She said--"
"Tootles?" murmured Brock. "Tootles and Raggles. I daresay there"s a distinction without much of a difference. Are you Burton?"
"Yes, Mr. Medcroft. The nurse. Won"t you take baby for a minute, sir?
Just to get acquainted, and for appearance"s sake." She whispered the well-meant entreaty. Brock, now well into the spirit of the situation, obligingly extended his arms. The baby set up a l.u.s.ty howl of aversion.
"For G.o.d"s sake, take him back to his mother!" groaned Brock hastily.
"He doesn"t like strangers! Take him away!"
"It isn"t a he, sir," whispered the maid, as the nurse prepared to beat a hasty retreat with the Medcroft offspring. "It"s a her, sir."
Brock"s face was a study in perplexity as they hurried from the car.
"By George," he muttered, "what next!"
That which did come next was even more amazing than the unexpected advent of Tootles. He barely had recovered his equanimity--with his coffee--when a young lady entered the car. That, of itself, was not much to speak of, but what followed was something that not even he could have dreamed of if he had been given the chance. He afterward recalled, in some distress of mind, that his second quick glance at the newcomer developed into little less than a rude stare of admiration. Small wonder, let it be advanced in his defence.
She was astoundingly fair to look upon--dazzling, it might be said, with some support to the adjective. Moreover, she was looking directly into his eyes from her unstable position near the door; what was more, a shy, even mischievous, smile crept into her face as her glance caught his.
Never had he seen a more exquisite face than hers; never had he looked upon a more perfect picture of grace and loveliness and--aye, smartness.
She was smiling with unmistakable friendliness and recognition, and yet he could have sworn he had not seen her before in his life. As if he could have forgotten such a face! A sudden sense of enchantment swept over him, indescribable, yet delicious.
She was coming toward him--still smiling shyly, her lips parted as if she were breathing quickly from fear or another emotion. He set down his coffee-cup without regard to taste or direction, his gaze fixed upon the trim, slender figure in blue. He now saw that her dark eyes were filled with a soft seriousness that belied her brave smile; a delicate pink had come into her clear, high-bred face; the hesitancy of the gentlewoman enveloped her with a mantle that shielded her from any suspicion of boldness. Brock struggled to his feet, amazement written in his face.
"Good morning, Roxbury," she said, in the most impersonal of greetings.
Her smile deepened as the blankness increased in his face. In the most casual, matter-of-fact manner, she appropriated the chair across the table from his. "Please sit down, Roxy."
He sat down abruptly. For a single, tense, abashed moment they looked searchingly into each other"s eyes.
"Are you Raggles?" he asked politely.
"You poor man!" she cried, aghast. "Raggles is Edith"s French poodle.
Has no one told you of the poodle?" She half whispered this. He began to adore her at that very moment,--a circ.u.mstance well worth remembering.
"No one has told me of _you_, for that matter," he apologised, thrilling with a delight such as he had never known before. "Would you mind whispering to me just who you are? Am I supposed to be your father--or what?"
"It is all so delightfully casual, isn"t it?" she said. "I daresay they forgot to tell you that you are a man of family. Didn"t they mention me in any way at all?" She pouted very prettily.
"No, they ignored you and Raggles and Tootles. Are there any more in my family that I haven"t met?"
"You see, we got to the station quite a bit ahead of Edith. That"s how you happened to miss meeting us. We saw you there, however. I recognised you by your clothes. You seemed very unhappy. Oh, I forgot. You wanted to know who I am. Well, I am your sister-in-law." She ordered coffee and toast while he sat there figuring it out. When the waiter departed, he leaned forward and said quite frankly,--
"You"ll pardon me, I"m sure, but I can"t understand how I was so short-sighted as to marry your sister."
"Well, you see, you didn"t catch a glimpse of me until after you were married," she railed. "I was in the Sacred Heart convent, you remember."
"Ah, that explains the oversight. I am considered an unusually discriminating person. Let me see: I married a Miss Fowler, didn"t I?"
"Yes, Roxbury. Four years ago, in London, at St. George"s, in Hanover Square, at four o"clock, on a Sat.u.r.day. Didn"t they tell you all that?"
"I don"t think they said anything about it being four o"clock. I"m glad to know the awful details, believe me. Thanks! Do you know I decided you were an American the instant I saw you in the door," he went on, quite irrelevantly.
"How clever of you, Roxbury!"
"Oh, I say, Miss Fowler, I"m not such an a.s.s as I look, really I"m not.
I"m trying to look like--"
""Sh! If you want me to believe you are not the a.s.s you think you look, be careful what you say. Remember I am _not_ Miss Fowler to you. I am Constance--sometimes Connie. Can you remember that,--Roxbury?"
He drew a long breath. "Oh, I say, Connie, I"d much rather be plain Brock to you."
"Please don"t forget that I am doing this for my sister,--not for myself, by any manner of means," she said stiffly. He flushed painfully, conscious of the rebuke.
"Please overlook my faults for the time being," he said. "I"ll do better. You see, I"ve been rather overcome by the sense of my own importance. I"m not used to being the head of an establishment. It has dazed me. A great many things have happened to me since I left the Gare de l"Est last night." He was considerate in not referring to his unhappy mode of travelling. "For instance, I"ve completely lost my head." He might have said hat, but that would have sounded commonplace and earthy.
"One does, you know, when he loses his ident.i.ty," she said sympathetically. "Edith says you are ripping, and all that sort of thing," she went on hurriedly, in perfect mimicry. "You come very highly recommended as a brother-in-law."
"Are you to be with us until the end of the play?"
"Yes. The Rodneys are my friends, not Edith"s. Katherine Rodney was in the convent with me. We see a great deal of each other. I"m sure you will like her. Everybody falls dreadfully in love with her."
"How very amiable of you to permit it," he protested gallantly. "I"m sure I shall enjoy falling in love. Which reminds me that I"ve never had a sister-in-law. They"re very nice, I"m told. It"s odd that Medcroft didn"t tell me about you. Would you mind advancing a bit of general information about yourself--and, I may say, about my family in general?
It may come handy."