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Updated: May 31, 2025
By that time he satisfactorily had convinced himself that no one but a fool could have suspected Constance of being in love with Ulstervelt; and yet, on the other hand, was he any better off for this cheerful argument? There was nothing to prove that she cared for him, notwithstanding this agreeable conclusion by contrast.
"Haw, haw!" laughed Brock, without grace or reason. Miss Fowler caught her breath sharply. "Fellow named Brock. Stupid sort of chap, my mother says. "Oh, dear me, Mr. Ulstervelt," cried Edith, breaking in, "you shan't say anything mean about Mr. Brock. He's my husband's best friend." "I didn't say it, Mrs. Medcroft. It was my mother." Brock was hiding a smile behind his hand.
Brock was solemnly ushered through the public office by Mr. Odell-Carney and Freddie Ulstervelt. It is not stretching the truth to say that they were sour and sullen, but, as may be suspected, from peculiarly different causes. At last all were congregated in the stuffy office, very much subdued and very much at odds with each other. Mr. Githens was there.
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."
"See here, Ulstervelt," he said with sudden coldness, "you're asking my help. That's no way to get it." "I beg pardon! I don't mean to be rude," apologised Freddie. "But, I say, old man, I'll make it worth your while. My father's got stacks of coin, and he's a power in New York. Odell-Carney's right. American architects can't design good hencoops.
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.
Brock was under the spell; he was fascinated; he had to look to himself carefully in order to keep his wits in the prescribed channel. 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.
In the mean time, young Mr. Ulstervelt was having troubles and disappointments of his own. Persistent effort to make love to Miss Fowler had finally resulted in an almost peremptory command to desist. An unlucky impulse to hold her hand during one of his attempts to "try her out" met with disaster. Miss Fowler snatched her hand away and, with a look he never forgot, abruptly left him.
He returned to the box after the second act and proposed a turn in the foyer. To his disgust, Ulstervelt appropriated Constance and left him to follow with Mrs. Rodney and Katherine. He almost hated Edith for the tantalising smile she shot after him as he moved away, defeated. If he was glaring luridly at the irrepressible Freddie, he was not alone in his gloom.
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