Edith may have gasped and looked wildly about in quest of help, but her agitation went unnoticed by the new friend. From that momentous hour Mrs. Medcroft encouraged an inordinate regard for the circumspect. She decided that it was best never to be alone with her husband; the future was now too precious to go unguarded for a single moment that might be unexplainable when the triumphal hour of revelation came to hand. She impressed this fact upon her sister, with the result that while Brock was never alone with his prudent wife, he was seldom far from the side of the adorable lieutenant. As if precociously providing for an ultimate alibi, the fickle Tootles began to show unmistakable signs of aversion for her temporary parent. Mrs. Rodney, being an old-fashioned mother, could not reconcile herself to this unfilial attitude, and gravely confided to her husband that she feared Medcroft was mistreating his child behind their backs. "Well, the poodle likes him, anyway," protested Mr. Rodney, who liked Brock; "and if a dog likes a man he's not altogether a bad lot. If I were you, I wouldn't spread the report." "Spread it!" she sniffed indignantly. "Are they not my own cousins? Twice removed," she concluded as an after-thought. "Do you imagine that _I_ would spread it? He may be an unnatural father, but I shall not be the one to say so. Please bear that in mind, Alfred." "Well, let's not argue about it," said Mr. Rodney, departing before she could disobey the injunction. Of course, there was no little confusion at the Hotel Tyrol when it came to establishing the Medcrofts. For a while it looked as though Brock would have to share a room with Tootles, relegating Burton to an alcove and a couch; but Constance, in a strictly family conclave, was seized by an inspiration which saved the day--or the night, more properly speaking. "I have it, Roxbury," she cried, her eyes dancing. "You can sleep on the balcony. A great many invalids do, you know." "But, good heaven, I'm not an invalid," he remonstrated feebly. "Of course, you're not, but can't you _say_ you are? It's quite simple. You sleep in the open air because it does your lungs so much good. Oh, I know! It isn't necessary to expand your chest like that. They're perfectly sound, I daresay. I should think you'd rather enjoy the fresh air. Besides, there isn't a room to be had in the hotel." "But suppose it should rain!" he protested, knowing full well he was doomed. "You poor boy, haven't you an umbrella?" she cried with such a perfectly entrancing laugh that he would have slept out in a hailstorm to provide recompense. And so it was settled that he was to sleep in the small balcony just off the baby's luxurious room, the hotel people agreeing to place a cot there at night in order to oblige the unfortunate guest with the affected lung.