THE SISTER-IN-LAW The Gare de l'Est was thronged with people when Brock appeared, fully half an hour before departing time.

In no little dismay, he found himself wondering if the whole of Paris was going away or, on the other hand, if the rest of the continent was arriving.

He felt a fool in Medcroft's unspeakable checked suit; and the eyeglass was a much more obstinate, untractable thing than he had even suspected it could be.

The right side of his face was in a condition of semi-paralysis due to the muscular exactions required; he had a sickening fear that the scowl that marked his brow was destined to form a perpetual alliance with the smirk at the corner of his nose, forever destroying the symmetry of his face.
If one who has not the proper facial construction will but attempt the feat of holding a monocle in place for unbroken hours, he may come to appreciate at least one of the trials which beset poor Brock.
Every one seemed to be staring at him.

He heard more than one American in the scurrying throng say to another, "English," and he felt relieved until an Englishman or two upset his confidence by brutally alluding to him as a "confounded American toady." It was quite train time before Mrs.Medcroft was seen hurrying in from the carriage way, pursued by a trio of _facteurs_, laden with bags and boxes.
"Don't shake hands," she warned in a quick whisper, as they came together.