His self-esteem received a severe shock at the opera. Mrs. Medcroft, with malice aforethought, insisted that Ulstervelt should take her husband's seat. As the box held but six persons, the unfortunate Brock was compelled to shift more or less for himself. Inwardly raging, he suavely assured the party--Freddie in particular--that he would find a seat in the body of the house and would join them during the _Entr'acte_. Then he went out and sat in the foyer. It was fortunate that he hated Wagner. Before the end of the act he was joined by Mr. Rodney, horribly bored and eager for relief. In a near-by _cafe_ they had a whiskey and soda apiece, and, feeling comfortably reinforced, returned to the opera house arm-in-arm, long and short, thin and fat, liberally discoursing upon the intellectuality of Herr Wagner. "Say, you're not at all like an Englishman," exclaimed Mr. Rodney 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?" "My dear Mrs.--my dear Edith, you amaze me. I'm confusion itself. But," he went on eagerly, illogically, "do you think I _could_ win her?" "That is not for one's wife to say," she said demurely. "I'd be tremendously proud of you as a sister-in-law. And I'd be much obliged if you'd help me. But look at that confounded Ulstervelt! He's making love to her with the whole house looking on." "I think it might be polite if you were to ask him out for a drink," she suggested. "But I've had one and I never take two." "Model husband! Then take the girls into the foyer for a stroll and a chat after the act. Don't mind me. I'm your friend." "Do you think I've got a chance with her?" he asked with a brave effort. "You've had one wife thrust upon you; why should you expect another without a struggle? I'm afraid you'll have to work for Constance."