I

After a magnificent night’s sleep, so magnificent indeed that he felt as if he had never until that moment really grasped the full significance of the word “sleep,” Mr. Prohack rang the bell for his morning tea.  Of late he had given orders that he must not under any circumstances be called, for it had been vouchsafed to him that in spite of a multitude of trained servants there were still things that he could do for himself better than anybody else could do for him, and among them was the act of waking up Mr. Prohack.  He knew that he was in a very good humour, capable of miracles, and he therefore determined that he would seize the opportunity to find the human side of Mr. Brool and make a friend of him.  But the tea-tray was brought in by Mrs. Prohack, who was completely and severely dressed.  She put down the tray and kissed her husband not as usual, but rather in the manner of a Roman matron, and Mr. Prohack divined that something had happened.

“I hope Brool hasn’t dropped down dead,” said he, realising the foolishness of his facetiousness as he spoke.

Eve seemed to be pained.

“Have you slept better?” she asked, solicitous.

“I have slept so well that there’s probably something wrong with me,” said he.  “Heavy sleep is a symptom of several dangerous diseases.”

“I’m glad you’ve had a good night,” she began, again ignoring his maladroit flippancy, “because I want to talk to you.”

“Darling,” he responded.  “Pour out my tea for me, will you?  Then I shall be equal to any strain.  I trust that you also passed a fair night, madam.  You look tremendously fit.”

Visions of Lady Massulam flitted through his mind, but he decided that Eve, seriously pouring out tea for him under the lamp in the morning twilight of the pale bedroom, could not be matched by either Lady Massulam or anybody else.  No, he could not conceive a Lady Massulam pouring out early tea; the Lady Massulams could only pour out afternoon tea-a job easier to do with grace and satisfaction.

“I have not slept a wink all night,” said Eve primly.  “But I was determined that nothing should induce me to disturb you.”

“Yes?” Mr. Prohack encouraged her, sipping the first glorious sip.

“Well, will you believe me that Sissie slipped out last night after dinner without saying a word to me or any one, and that she didn’t come back and hasn’t come back?  I sat up for her till three o’clock-I telephoned to Charlie, but no! he’d seen nothing of her.”

“Did you telephone to Ozzie?”

“Telephone to Ozzie, my poor boy!  Of course I didn’t.  I wouldn’t have Ozzie know for anything.  Besides, he isn’t on the telephone at his flat.”

“That’s a good reason for not telephoning, anyway,” said Mr. Prohack.

“But did you ever hear of such a thing?  The truth is, you’ve spoilt that child.”

“I may have spoilt the child,” Mr. Prohack admitted.  “But I have heard of such a thing.  I seem to remember that in the dear dead days of dancing studios, something similar occurred to your daughter.”

“Yes, but we did know where she was.”

“You didn’t.  I did,” Mr. Prohack corrected her.

“Do you want me to cry?” Eve demanded suddenly.

“Yes,” said Mr. Prohack.  “I love to see you cry.”

Eve pursed her lips and wrinkled her brows and gazed at the window, performing great feats of self-control under extreme provocation to lose her temper.

“What do you propose to do?” she asked with formality.

“Wait till the girl comes back,” said Mr. Prohack.

“Arthur!  I really cannot understand how you can take a thing like this so casually!  No, I really can’t!”

“Neither can I!” Mr. Prohack admitted, quite truthfully.

He saw that he ought to have been gravely upset by Sissie’a prank and he was merely amused.  “Effect of too much sleep, no doubt,” he added.

Eve walked about the room.

“I pretended to Machin this morning that Sissie had told me that she was sleeping out, and that I had forgotten to tell Machin.  It’s a good thing we haven’t engaged lady’s maids yet.  I can trust Machin.  I know she didn’t believe me this morning, but I can trust her.  You see, after Sissie’s strange behaviour these last few days....  One doesn’t know what to think.  And there’s something else.  Every morning for the last three or four weeks Sissie’s gone out somewhere, for an hour or two, quite regularly.  And where she went I’ve never been able to find out.  Of course with a girl like her it doesn’t do to ask too direct questions....  Ah!  I should like to have seen my mother in my place.  I know what she’d have done!”

“What would your mother have done?  She always seemed to me to be a fairly harmless creature.”

“Yes, to you!...  Do you think we ought to inform the police!”

“No!”

“I’m so glad.  The necklace and Sissie coming on top of each other!  No, it would be too much!”

“It never rains but it pours, does it?” observed Mr. Prohack.

“But what are we to do?”

“Just what your mother would have done.  Your mother would have argued like this:  Either Sissie is staying away against her will or she is staying away of her own accord.  If the former, it means an accident, and we are bound to hear shortly from one of the hospitals.  If the latter, we can only sit tight.  Your mother had a vigorous mind and that is how she would have looked at things.”

“I never know how to take you, Arthur,” said Mrs. Prohack, and went on:  “And what makes it all the more incomprehensible IA that yesterday afternoon Sissie went with me to Jay’s to see about the wedding-dress.”

“But why should that make it all the more incomprehensible?”

“Don’t you think it does, somehow?  I do.”

“Did she giggle at Jay’s?”

“Oh, no!  Except once.  Yes, I think she giggled once.  That was when the fitter said she hoped we should give them plenty of time, because most customers rushed them so.  I remember thinking how queer it was that Sissie should laugh so much at a perfectly simple remark like that.  Oh!  Arthur!”

“Now, my child,” said Mr. Prohack firmly.  “Don’t get into your head that Sissie has gone off hers.  Yesterday you thought for quite half an hour that I was suffering from incipient lunacy.  Let that suffice you for the present.  Be philosophical.  The source of tranquillity is within.  Remember that, and remind me of it too, because I’m apt to forget it....  We can do nothing at the moment.  I will now get up, and I warn you that I shall want a large breakfast and you to pour out my coffee and read the interesting bits out of The Daily Picture to me.”

At eleven o’clock of the morning the status quo was still maintaining itself within the noble mansion at Manchester Square.  Mr. Prohack, washed, dressed, and amply fed, was pretending to be very busy with correspondence in his study, but he was in fact much more busy with Eve than with the correspondence.  She came in to him every few minutes, and each time needed more delicate handling.  After one visit Mr. Prohack had an idea.  He transferred the key from the inside to the outside of the door.  At the next visit Eve presented an ultimatum.  She said that Mr. Prohack must positively do something about his daughter.  Mr. Prohack replied that he would telephone to his solicitors:  a project which happily commended itself to Eve, though what his solicitors could do except charge a fee Mr. Prohack could not imagine.

“You wait here,” said he persuasively.

He then left the room and silently locked the door on Eve.  It was a monstrous act, but Mr. Prohack had slept too well and was too fully inspired by the instinct of initiative.  He hurried downstairs, ignoring Brool, who was contemplating the grandeur of the entrance hall, snatched his overcoat, hat, and umbrella from the seventeenth-century panelled cupboard in which these articles were kept, and slipped away into the Square, before Brool could even open the door for him.  As he fled he glanced up at the windows of his study, fearful lest Eve might have divined his purpose to abandon her and, catching sight of him in flight, might begin making noises on the locked door.  But Eve had not divined his purpose.

Mr. Prohack walked straight to Bruton Street, where Oswald Morfey’s Japanese flat was situated.  Mr. Prohack had never seen this flat, though his wife and daughter had been invited to it for tea-and had returned therefrom with excited accounts of its exquisite uniqueness.  He had decided that his duty was to inform Ozzie of the mysterious disappearance of Sissie as quickly as possible; and, as Ozzie’s theatrical day was not supposed to begin until noon, he hoped to catch him before his departure to the beck and call of the mighty Asprey Chown.

The number in Bruton Street indicated a tall, thin house with four bell-pushes and four narrow brass-plates on its door-jamb.  The deceitful edifice looked at a distance just like its neighbours, but, as the array on the door-jamb showed, it had ceased to be what it seemed, the home of a respectable Victorian family in easy circumstances, and had become a Georgian warren for people who could reconcile themselves to a common staircase provided only they might engrave a sound West End address on their notepaper.  The front-door was open, disclosing the reassuring fact that the hall and staircase were at any rate carpeted.  Mr. Prohack rang the bell attached to Ozzie’s name, waited, rang again, waited, and then marched upstairs.  Perhaps Ozzie was shaving.  Not being accustomed to the organisation of tenements in fashionable quarters, Mr. Prohack was unaware that during certain hours of the day he was entitled to ring the housekeeper’s bell, on the opposite door-jamb, and to summon help from the basement.

As he mounted it the staircase grew stuffier and stuffier, but the condition of the staircarpet improved.  Mr. Prohack hated the place, and at once determined to fight powerfully against Sissie’s declared intention of starting married life in her husband’s bachelor-flat, for the sake of economy.  He would force the pair, if necessary, to accept from him a flat rent-free, or he would even purchase for them one of those bijou residences of which he had heard tell.  He little dreamed that this very house had once been described as a bijou residence.  The third floor landing was terribly small and dark, and Mr. Prohack could scarcely decipher the name of his future son-in-law on the shabby name-plate.

“This den would be dear at elevenpence three farthings a year,” said he to himself, and was annoyed because for months he had been picturing the elegant Oswald as the inhabitant of something orientally and impeccably luxurious, and he wondered that his women, as a rule so critical, had breathed no word of the flat’s deplorable approaches.

He rang the bell, and the bell made a violent and horrid sound, which could scarcely fail to be heard throughout the remainder of the house.  No answer!  Ozzie had gone.  He descended the stairs, and on the second-floor landing saw an old lady putting down a mat in front of an open door.  The old lady’s hair was in curl-papers.

“I suppose,” he ventured, raising his hat.  “I suppose you don’t happen to know whether Mr. Morfey has gone out?”

The old lady scanned him before replying.

“He can’t be gone out,” she answered.  “He’s just been sweeping his floor enough to wake the dead.”

“Sweeping his floor!” exclaimed Mr. Prohack, shocked, thunderstruck.  “I understood these were service flats.”

“So they are-in a way, but the housekeeper never gets up to this floor before half past twelve; so it can’t be the housekeeper.  Besides, she’s gone out for me.”

“Thank you,” said Mr. Prohack, and remounted the staircase.  His blood was up.  He would know the worst about the elegant Oswald, even if he had to beat the door down.  He was, however, saved from this extreme measure, for when he aimlessly pushed against Oswald’s door it opened.

He beheld a narrow passage, which in the matter of its decoration certainly did present a Japanese aspect to Mr. Prohack, who, however, had never been to Japan.  Two doors gave off the obscure corridor.  One of these doors was open, and in the doorway could be seen the latter half of a woman and the forward half of a carpet-brush.  She was evidently brushing the carpet of a room and gradually coming out of the room and into the passage.  She wore a large blue pinafore apron, and she was so absorbed in her business that the advent of Mr. Prohack passed quite unnoticed by her.  Mr. Prohack waited.  More of the woman appeared, and at last the whole of her.  She felt, rather than saw, the presence of a man at the entrance, and she looked up, transfixed.  A deep blush travelled over all her features.

“How clever of you!” she said, with a fairly successful effort to be calm.

“Good morning, my child,” said Mr. Prohack, with a similar and equally successful effort.  “So you’re cleaning Mr. Morfey’s flat for him.”

“Yes.  And not before it needed it.  Do come in and shut the door.”  Mr. Prohack obeyed, and Sissie shed her pinafore apron.  “Now we’re quite private.  I think you’d better kiss me.  I may as well tell you that I’m fearfully happy-much more so than I expected to be at first.”

Mr. Prohack again obeyed, and when he kissed his daughter he had an almost entirely new sensation.  The girl was far more interesting to him than she had ever been.  Her blush thrilled him.

“You might care to glance at that,” said Sissie, with an affectation of carelessness, indicating a longish, narrowish piece of paper covered with characters in red and black, which had been affixed to the wall of the passage with two pins.  “We put it there-at least I did-to save trouble.”

Mr. Prohack scanned the document.  It began:  “This is to certify-” and it was signed by a “Registrar of births, deaths, and marriages.”

“Yesterday, eh?” he ejaculated.

“Yes.  Yesterday, at two o’clock. Not at St George’s and not at St Nicodemus’s....  Well, you can say what you like, dad-”

“I’m not aware of having said anything yet,” Mr. Prohack put in.

“You can say what you like, but what did you expect me to do?  It was necessary to bring home to some people that this is the twentieth century, not the nineteenth, and I think I’ve done it.  And anyway what are you going to do about it?  Did you seriously suppose that I-I-was going through all the orange-blossom rigmarole, voice that breathed o’er Eden, fully choral, red carpet on the pavement, flowers, photographers, vicar, vestry, Daily Picture, reception, congratulations, rice, old shoes, going-away dress, ‘Be kind to her, Ozzie.’  Not much!  And I don’t think.  They say that girls love it and insist on it.  Well, I don’t, and I know some others who don’t, too.  I think it’s simply barbaric, worse than a public funeral.  Why, to my mind it’s Central African; and that’s all there is to it.  So there!” She laughed.

“Well,” said Mr. Prohaek, holding his hat in his hand.  “I’m a tolerably two-faced person myself, but for sheer heartless duplicity I give you the palm.  You can beat me.  Has it occurred to you that this dodge of yours will cost you about fifty per cent of the wedding presents you might otherwise have had?”

“It has,” said Sissie.  “That was one reason why we tried the dodge.  Nothing is more horrible than about fifty per cent of the wedding presents that brides get in these days.  And we’ve had the two finest presents anybody could wish for.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, Ozzie gave me Ozzie, and I gave him me.”

“I suppose the idea was yours?”

“Of course.  Didn’t I tell you yesterday that Ozzie’s only function at my wedding was to be indispensable.  He was very much afraid at first when I started on the scheme, but he soon warmed up to it.  I’ll give him credit for seeing that secrecy was the only thing.  If we’d announced it beforehand, we should have been bound to be beaten.  You see that yourself, don’t you, dearest?  And after all, it’s our affair and nobody else’s.”

“That’s just where you’re wrong,” said Mr. Prohack grandly.  “A marriage, even yours, is an affair of the State’s.  It concerns society.  It is full of reactions on society.  And society has been very wise to invest it with solemnity-and a certain grotesque quality.  All solemnities are a bit grotesque, and so they ought to be.  All solemnities ought to produce self-consciousness in the performers.  As things are, you’ll be ten years in convincing yourself that you’re really a married woman, and till the day of your death, and afterwards, society will have an instinctive feeling that there’s something fishy about you, or about Ozzie.  And it’s your own fault.”

“Oh, dad!  What a fraud you are!” And the girl smiled.  “You know perfectly well that if you’d been in my place, and had had the pluck-which you wouldn’t have had-you’d have done the same.”

“I should,” Mr. Prohack immediately admitted.  “Because I always want to be smarter than other people.  It’s a cheap ambition.  But I should have been wrong.  And I’m exceedingly angry with you and I’m suffering from a sense of outrage, and I should not be at all surprised if all is over between us.  The thing amounts to a scandal, and the worst of it is that no satisfactory explanation of it can ever be given to the world.  If your Ozzie is up, produce him, and I’ll talk to him as he’s never been talked to before.  He’s the elder, he’s a man, and he’s the most to blame.”

“Take your overcoat off,” said Sissie laughing and kissing him again.  “And don’t you dare to say a word to Ozzie.  Besides, he isn’t in.  He’s gone off to business.  He always goes at eleven-thirty punctually.”

There was a pause.

“Well,” said Mr. Prohack.  “All I wish to state is that if you had a feather handy, you could knock me down with it.”

“I can see all over your face,” Sissie retorted, “that you’re so pleased and relieved you don’t know what to do with yourself.”

Mr. Prohack perfunctorily denied this, but it was true.  His relief that the wedding lay behind instead of in front of him was immense, and his spirits rose even higher than they had been when he first woke up.  He loathed all ceremonies, and the prospect of having to escort an orange-blossom-laden young woman in an automobile to a fashionable church, and up the aisle thereof, and raise his voice therein, and make a present of her to some one else, and breathe sugary nothings to a thousand gapers at a starchy reception,-this prospect had increasingly become a nightmare to him.  Often had he dwelt on it in a condition resembling panic.  And now he felt genuinely grateful to his inexcusable daughter for her shameless effrontery.  He desired greatly to do something very handsome indeed for her and her excellent tame husband.

“Step in and see my home,” she said.

The home consisted of two rooms, one of them a bedroom and the other a sitting-room, together with a small bathroom that was as dark and dank as a cell of the Spanish Inquisition, and another apartment which he took for a cupboard, but which Sissie authoritatively informed him was a kitchen.  The two principal rooms were beyond question beautifully Japanese in the matter of pictures, prints and cabinets-not otherwise.  They showed much taste; they were unusual and stimulating and jolly and refined; but Mr. Prohack did not fancy that he personally could have lived in them with any striking success.  The lack of space, of light, and of air outweighed all considerations of charm and originality; the upper staircase alone would have ruined any flat for Mr. Prohack.

“Isn’t it lovely!” Sissie encouraged him.

“Yes, it is,” he said feebly.  “Got any servants yet?”

“Oh!  We can’t have servants.  No room for them to sleep, and I couldn’t stand charwomen.  You see, it’s a service flat, so there’s really nothing to do.”

“So I noticed when I came in,” said Mr. Prohack.  “And I suppose you intend to eat at restaurants.  Or do they send up meals from the cellar?”

“We shan’t go to restaurants,” Sissie replied.  “You may be sure of that.  Too expensive for us.  And I don’t count much on the cookery downstairs.  No!  I shall do the cooking in a chaffing-dish-here it is, you see.  I’ve been taking lessons in chafing-dish cookery every day for weeks, and it’s awfully amusing, it is really.  And it’s much better than ordinary cooking, and cheaper too.  Ozzie loves it.”

Mr. Prohack was touched, and more than ever determined to “be generous in the grand manner and start the simple-minded couple in married life on a scale befitting the general situation.

“You’ll soon be clearing out of this place, I expect,” he began cautiously.

“Clearing out!” Sissie repeated.  “Why should we?  We’ve got all we need.  We haven’t the slightest intention of trying to live as you live.  Ozzie’s very prudent, I’m glad to say, and so am I. We’re going to save hard for a few years, and then we shall see how things are.”

“But you can’t possibly stay on living in a place like this!” Mr. Prohack protested, smiling diplomatically to soften the effect of his words.

“Who can’t?”

“You can’t.”

“But when you say me, do you mean your daughter or Ozzie’s wife?  Ozzie’s lived here for years, and he’s given lots of parties here-tea-parties, of course.”

Mr. Prohack paused, perceiving that he had put himself in the wrong.

“This place is perfectly respectable,” Sissie continued, “and supposing you hadn’t got all that money from America or somewhere,” she persisted, “would you have said that I couldn’t ’possibly go on living in a place like this?’” She actually imitated his superior fatherly tone.  “You’d have been only too pleased to see me living in a place like this.”

Mr. Prohack raised both arms on high.

“All right,” said the young spouse, absurdly proud of her position.  “I’ll let you off with your life this time, and you can drop your arms again.  But if anybody had told me that you would come here and make a noise like a plutocrat I wouldn’t have believed it.  Still, I’m frightfully fond of you and I know you’d do anything for me, and you’re nearly as much of a darling as Ozzie, but you mustn’t be a rich man when you call on me here.  I couldn’t bear it twice.”

“I retire in disorder, closely pursued by the victorious enemy,” said Mr. Prohack.  And in so saying he accurately described the situation.  He had been more than defeated-he had been exquisitely snubbed.  And yet the singular creature was quite pleased.  He looked at the young girl, no longer his and no longer a girl either, set in the midst of a japanned and lacquered room that so resembled Ozzie in its daintiness; he saw the decision on her brow, the charm in her eyes, and the elegance in her figure and dress, and he came near to bursting with pride.  “She’s got character enough to beat even me,” he reflected contentedly, thus exhibiting an ingenuousness happily rare among fathers of brilliant daughters.  And even the glimpse of the cupboard kitchen, where the washing-up after a chafing-dish breakfast for two had obviously not yet been accomplished-even this touch seemed only to intensify the moral and physical splendour of his child in her bridal setting.

“At the same time,” he added to the admission of defeat, “I seem to have a sort of idea that lately you’ve been carrying on rather like a plutocrat’s daughter.”

“That was only my last fling,” she replied, quite unperturbed.

“I see,” said Mr. Prohack musingly.  “Now as regards my wedding present to you.  Am I permitted to offer any gift, or is it forbidden?  Of course with all my millions I couldn’t hope to rival the gift which Ozzie gave you, but I might come in a pretty fair second, mightn’t I?”

“Dad,” said she.  “I must leave all that to your good taste.  I’m sure that it won’t let you make any attack on our independence.”

“Supposing that I were to find some capital for Ozzie to start in business for himself as a theatrical manager?  He must know a good deal about the job by this time.”

Sissie shook her delicious head.

“No, that would be plutocratic.  And you see I’ve only just married Ozzie.  I don’t know anything about him yet.  When I do, I shall come and talk to you.  While you’re waiting I wish you’d give me some crockery.  One breakfast cup isn’t quite enough for two people, after the first day.  I saw a set of things in a shop in Oxford Street for L1. 19. 6 which I should love to have....  What’s happened to the mater?  Is she in a great state about me?  Hadn’t you better run off and put her out of her misery?”

He went, thoughtful.

III

He was considerably dashed on his return home, to find the door of his study still locked on the outside.  The gesture which on his leaving the room seemed so natural, brilliant and excusable, now presented itself to him as the act of a coarse-minded idiot.  He hesitated to unlock the door, but of course he had to unlock it.  Eve eat as if at the stake, sublime.

“Arthur, why do you play these tricks on me-and especially when we are in such trouble?”

Why did he, indeed?

“I merely didn’t want you to run after me,” said he.  “I made sure of course that you’d ring the bell at once and have the door opened.”

“Did you imagine for a moment that I would let any of the servants know that you’d locked me in a room?  No!  You couldn’t have imagined that.  I’ve too much respect for your reputation in this house to do such a thing, and you ought to know it.”

“My child,” said Mr. Prohack, once again amazed at Eve’s extraordinary gift for putting him in the wrong, and for making him still more wrong when he was wrong.  “This is the second time this morning that I’ve had to surrender to overwhelming force.  Name your own terms of peace.  But let me tell you in extenuation that I’ve discovered your offspring.  The fact is, I got her in one.”

“Where is she?” Eve asked, not eagerly, rather negligently, for she was now more distressed about her husband’s behaviour than about Sissie.

“At Ozzie’s.”  As soon as he had uttered the words Mr. Prohack saw his wife’s interest fly back from himself to their daughter.

“What’s she doing at Ozzie’s?”

“Well, she’s living with him.  They were married yesterday.  They thought they’d save you and me and themselves a lot of trouble....  But, look here, my child, it’s not a tragedy.  What’s the matter with you?”

Eve’s face was a mask of catastrophe.  She did not cry.  The affair went too deep for tears.

“I suppose I shall have to forgive Sissie-some day; but I’ve never been so insulted in my life.  Never!  And never shall I forget it!  And I’ve no doubt that you and Sissie treated it all as a great piece of fun.  You would!”

The poor lady had gone as pale as ivory.  Mr. Prohack was astonished-he even felt hurt-that he had not seen the thing from Eve’s point of view earlier.  Emphatically it did amount to an insult for Eve, to say naught of the immense desolating disappointment to her.  And yet Sissie, princess among daughters, had not shown by a single inflection of her voice that she had any sympathy with her mother, or any genuine appreciation of what the secret marriage would mean to her.  Youth was incredibly cruel; and age too, in the shape of Mr. Prohack himself, had not been much less cruel.

“Something’s happened about that necklace since you left,” said Eve, in a dull, even voice.

“Oh!  What?”

“I don’t know.  But I saw Mr. Crewd the detective drive up to the house at a great pace.  Then Brool came and knocked here, and as I didn’t care to have to tell him that the door was locked, I kept quiet and he went away again.  Mr. Crewd went away too.  I saw him drive away.”

Mr. Prohack said nothing audible, but to himself he said:  “She actually choked off her curiosity about the necklace so as not to give me away!  There could never have been another woman like her in the whole history of human self-control!  She’s prodigious!”

And then he wondered what could have happened in regard to the necklace.  He foresaw more trouble there.  And the splendour of the morning had faded.  An appalling silence descended upon the whole house.  To escape from its sinister spell Mr. Prohack departed and sought the seclusion of his secondary club, which he had not entered for a very long time. (He dared not face the lively amenities of his principal club.) He pretended, at the secondary club, that he had never ceased to frequent the place regularly, and to that end he put on a nonchalant air; but he was somewhat disconcerted to find, from the demeanour of his acquaintances there, that he positively had not been missed to any appreciable extent.  He decided that the club was a dreary haunt, and could not understand why he had never before perceived its dreariness.  The members seemed to be scarcely alive; and in particular they seemed to have conspired together to behave and talk as though humanity consisted of only one sex,-their own.  Mr. Prohack, worried though he was by a too acute realisation of the fact that humanity did indeed consist of two sexes, despised the lot of them.  And yet simultaneously the weaker part of him envied them, and he fully admitted, in the abstract, that something might convincingly be said in favour of monasteries.  It was a most strange experience.

After a desolating lunch of excellent dishes, perfect coffee which left a taste in his mouth, and a fine cigar which he threw away before it was half finished, he abandoned the club and strolled in the direction of Manchester Square.  But he lacked the courage to go into the noble mansion, and feebly and aimlessly proceeded northward until he arrived at Marylebone Road and saw the great historic crimson building of Madame Tussaud’s Waxworks.  His mood was such that he actually, in a wild and melancholy caprice, paid money to enter this building and enquired at once for the room known as the Chamber of Horrors....  When he emerged his gloom had reached the fantastic, hysteric, or giggling stage, and his conception of the all-embracingness of London was immensely enlarged.

“Miss Sissie and Mr. Morfey are with Mrs. Prohack, sir,” said Brool, in a quite ordinary tone, taking the hat and coat of his returned master in the hall of the noble mansion.

Mr. Prohack started.

“Give me back my hat and coat,” said he.  “Tell your mistress that I may not be in for dinner.”  And he fled.

He could not have assisted at the terrible interview between Eve and the erring daughter who had inveigled her own betrothed into a premature marriage.  Sissie at any rate had pluck, and she must also have had an enormous moral domination over Ozzie to have succeeded in forcing him to join her in a tragic scene.  What a honeymoon!  To what a pass had society come!  Mr. Prohack drove straight to the Monument, and paid more money for the privilege of climbing it.  He next visited the Tower.  The day seemed to consist of twenty-four thousand hours.  He dined at the Trocadero Restaurant, solitary at a table under the shadow of the bass fiddle of the orchestra; and finally he patronised Maskelyne and Cook’s entertainment, and witnessed the dissipation of solid young women into air.  He reached home, as it was humorously called, at ten thirty.

“Mrs. Prohack has retired for the night, sir,” said Brool, who never permitted his employers merely to go to bed, “and wishes not to be disturbed.”

“Thank God!” breathed Mr. Prohack.

“Yes, sir,” said Brool, dutifully acquiescent.

IV

The next morning Eve behaved to her husband exactly as if nothing untoward had happened.  She kissed and was kissed.  She exhibited sweetness without gaiety, and a general curiosity without interest.  She said not a word concerning the visit of Sissie and Ozzie.  She expressed the hope that Mr. Prohack had had a pleasant evening and slept well.  Her anxiety to be agreeable to Mr. Prohack was touching,-it was angelic.  To the physical eye all was as usual, but Mr. Prohack was aware that in a single night she had built a high and unscalable wall between him and her; a wall which he could see through and which he could kiss through, but which debarred him utterly from her.  And yet what sin had he committed against her, save the peccadillo of locking her for an hour or two in a comfortable room?  It was Sissie, not he, who had committed the sin.  He wanted to point this out to Eve, but he appreciated the entire futility of doing so and therefore refrained.  About eleven o’clock Eve knocked at and opened his study door.

“May I come in-or am I disturbing you?” she asked brightly.

“Don’t be a silly goose,” said Mr. Prohack, whose rising temper-he hated angels-was drowning his tact.  Smiling as though he had thrown her a compliment, Eve came in, and shut the door.

“I’ve just received this,” she said.  “It came by messenger.”  And she handed him a letter signed with the name of Crewd, the private detective.  The letter ran:  “Madam, I beg to inform you that I have just ascertained that the driver of taxi N has left at New Scotland Yard a pearl necklace which he found in his vehicle.  He states that he drove a lady and gentleman from your house to Waterloo Station on the evening of your reception, but can give no description of them.  I mention the matter pro forma, but do not anticipate that it can interest you as the police authorities at New Scotland Yard declare the pearls to be false.  Yours obediently....  P.S.  I called upon you in order to communicate the above facts yesterday, but you were not at home.”

Mr. Prohack turned a little pale, and his voice trembled as he said, looking up from the letter: 

“I wonder who the thief was.  Anyhow, women are staggering.  Here some woman-I’m sure it was the woman and not the man-picks up a necklace from the floor of one of your drawing-rooms, well knowing it not to be her own, hides it, makes off with it, and then is careless enough to leave it in a taxi!  Did you ever hear of such a thing?”

“But that wasn’t my necklace, Arthur!” said Eve.

“Of course it was your necklace,” said Mr. Prohack.

“Do you mean to tell me-” Eve began, and it was a new Eve.

“Of course I do!” said Mr. Prohack, who had now thoroughly subdued his temper in the determination to bring to a head that trouble about the necklace and end it for ever.  He was continuing his remarks when the wall suddenly fell down with an unimaginable crash.  Eve said nothing, but the soundless crash deafened Mr. Prohack.  Nevertheless the mere fact that Sissie’s wedding lay behind and not before him, helped him somewhat to keep his spirits and his nerve.

“I will never forgive you, Arthur!” said Eve with the most solemn and terrible candour.  She no longer played a part; she was her formidable self, utterly unmasked and savagely expressive without any regard to consequences.  Mr. Prohack saw that he was engaged in a mortal duel, with the buttons off the deadly foils.

“Of course you won’t,” said he, gathering himself heroically together, and superbly assuming a calm which he did not in the least feel.  “Of course you won’t, because there is nothing to forgive.  On the contrary, you owe me your thanks.  I never deceived you.  I never told you the pearls were genuine.  Indeed I beg to remind you that I once told you positively that I would never buy you a pearl necklace,-don’t you remember?  You thought they were genuine, and you have had just as much pleasure out of them as if they had been genuine.  You were always careless with your jewellery.  Think how I should have suffered if I had watched you every day being careless with a rope of genuine pearls!  I should have had no peace of mind.  I should have been obliged to reproach you, and as you can’t bear to be reproached you would have picked quarrels with me.  Further, you have lost nothing in prestige, for the reason that all our friends and acquaintances have naturally assumed that the pearls were genuine because they were your pearls and you were the wife of a rich man.  A woman whose husband’s financial position is not high and secure is bound to wear real pearls because people will assume that her pearls are false.  But a woman like yourself can wear any pinchbeak pearls with impunity because people assume that her pearls are genuine.  In your case there could be no advantage whatever in genuine pearls.  To buy them would be equivalent to throwing money in the street.  Now, as it is, I have saved money over the pearls, and therefore interest on money, though I did buy you the very finest procurable imitations!  And think, my child, how relieved you are now,-oh, yes! you are, so don’t pretend the contrary:  I can deceive you, but you can’t deceive me.  You have no grievance whatever.  You have had many hours of innocent satisfaction in your false jewels, and nobody is any the worse.  Indeed my surpassing wisdom in the choice of a necklace has saved you from all further worry about the loss of the necklace, because it simply doesn’t matter either one way or the other, and I say I defy you to stand there and tell me to my face that you have any grievance at all.”

Mr. Prohack paused for a reply, and he got it.

“I will never forgive you as long as I live,” said Eve.  “Let us say no more about it.  What time is that awful lunch that you’ve arranged with that dreadful Bishop man?  And what would you like me to wear, please?” In an instant she had rebuilt the wall, higher than ever.

Mr. Prohack, always through the wall, took her in his arms and kissed her.  But he might as well have kissed a woman in a trance.  All that could be said was that Eve submitted to his embrace, and her attitude was another brilliant illustration of the fact that the most powerful oriental tyrants can be defied by their weakest slaves, provided that the weakest slaves know how to do it.

“You are splendid!” said Mr. Prohack, admiringly, conscious anew of his passion for her and full of trust in the virtue of his passion to knock down the wall sooner or later.  “But you are a very naughty and ungrateful creature, and you must be punished.  I will now proceed to punish you.  We have much to do before the lunch.  Go and get ready, and simply put on all the clothes that have cost the most money.  They are the clothes fittest for your punishment.”

Three-quarters of an hour later, when Mr. Prohack had telephoned and sent a confirmatory note by hand to his bank, Carthew drove them away southwards, and the car stopped in front of the establishment of a very celebrated firm of jewellers near Piccadilly.

“Come along,” said Mr. Prohack, descending to the pavement, and drew after him a moving marble statue, richly attired.  They entered the glittering shop, and were immediately encountered by an expectant salesman who had the gifts of wearing a frock-coat as though he had been born in it, and of reading the hearts of men.  That salesman saw in a flash that big business was afoot.

“First of all,” said Mr. Prohack.  “Here is my card, so that we may know where we stand.”

The salesman read the card and was suitably impressed, but his conviction that big business was afoot seemed now to be a little shaken.

“May I venture to hope that the missing necklace has been found, sir?” said the salesman smoothly.  “We’ve all been greatly interested in the newspaper story.”

“That is beside the point,” said Mr. Prohack.  “I’ve come simply to buy a pearl necklace.”

“I beg pardon, sir.  Certainly.  Will you have the goodness to step this way.”

They were next in a private room off the shop; and the sole items of furniture were three elegant chairs, a table with a glass top, and a colossal safe.  Another salesman entered the room with bows, and keys were produced, and the two salesmen between them swung back the majestic dark green doors of the safe.  In another minute various pearl necklaces were lying on the table.  The spectacle would have dazzled a connoisseur in pearls; but Mr. Prohack was not a connoisseur; he was not even interested in pearls, and saw on the table naught but a monotonous array of pleasing gewgaws, to his eye differing one from another only in size.  He was, however, actuated by a high moral purpose, which uplifted him and enabled him to listen with dignity to the technical eulogies given by the experts.  Eve of course behaved with impeccable correctness, hiding the existence of the wall from everybody except Mr. Prohack, but forcing Mr. Prohack to behold the wall all the time.

When he had reached a state of complete bewilderment regarding the respective merits of the necklaces, Mr. Prohack judged the moment ripe for proceeding to business.  With his own hands he clasped a necklace round his wife’s neck, and demanded: 

“What is the price of this one?”

“Eight hundred and fifty pounds,” answered the principal expert, who seemed to recognise every necklace at sight as a shepherd recognises every sheep in his flock.

“Do you think this would suit you, my dear?” asked Mr. Prohack.

“I think so,” replied Eve politely.

“Well, I’m not so sure,” said Mr. Prohack, reflectively.  “What about this one?” And he picked up and tried upon Eve another and a larger necklace.

“That,” said the original expert, “is two thousand four hundred guineas.”

“It seems cheap,” said Mr. Prohack carelessly.  “But there’s something about the gradation that I don’t quite like.  What about this one?”

Eve opened her mouth, as if about to speak, but she did not speak.  The wall, which had trembled for a few seconds, regained its monumental solidity.

“Five thousand guineas,” said the expert of the third necklace.

“Hm!” commented Mr. Prohack, removing the gewgaw.  “Yes.  Not so bad.  And yet-”

“That necklace,” the expert announced with a mien from which all deference had vanished, “is one of the most perfect we have.  The pearls have, if I may so express it, a homogeneity not often arrived at in any necklace.  They are not very large of course-”

“Quite so,” Mr. Prohack stopped him, selecting a fourth necklace.

“Yes,” the expert admitted, his deference returning.  “That one is undoubtedly superior.  Let me see, we have not yet exactly valued it, but I think we could put it in at ten thousand guineas-perhaps pounds.  I should have to consult one of the partners.”

“It is scarcely,” said Mr. Prohack, surveying the trinket judicially on his wife’s neck, “scarcely the necklace of my dreams,-not that I would say a word against it....  Ah!” And he pounced suddenly, with an air of delighted surprise, upon a fifth necklace, the queen of necklaces.

“My dear, try this one.  Try this one.  I didn’t notice it before.  Somehow it takes my fancy, and as I shall obviously see much more of your necklace than you will, I should like my taste to be consulted.”

As he fastened the catch of the thing upon Eve’s delicious nape, he could feel that she was trembling.  He surveyed the dazzling string.  She also surveyed it, fascinated, spellbound.  Even Mr. Prohack began to perceive that the reputation and value of fine pearls might perhaps be not entirely unmerited in the world.

“Sixteen thousand five hundred,” said the expert.

“Pounds or guineas?” Mr. Prohack blandly enquired.

“Well, sir, shall we say pounds?”

“I think I will take it,” said Mr. Prohack with undiminished blandness.  “No, my dear, don’t take it off.  Don’t take it off.”

“Arthur!” Eve breathed, seeming to expire in a kind of agonised protest.

“May I have a few minutes’ private conversation with my wife?” Mr. Prohack suggested.  “Could you leave us?” One expert glanced at the other awkwardly.

“Pardon my lack of savoir vivre,” said Mr. Prohack.  “Of course you cannot possibly leave us alone with all these valuables.  Never mind!  We will call again.”

The principal expert rose sublimely to the great height of the occasion.  He had a courageous mind and was moreover well acquainted with the fantastic folly of allowing customers to call again.  Within his experience of some thirty years he had not met half a dozen exceptions to the rule that customers who called again, if ever they did call, called in a mood of hard and miserly sanity which for the purposes of the jewellery business was sickeningly inferior to their original mood.

“Please, please, Mr. Prohack!” said he, with grand deprecation, and departed out of the room with his fellow.

No sooner had they gone than the wall sank.  It did not tumble with a crash; it most gently subsided.

“Arthur!” Eve exclaimed, with a curious uncertainty of voice.  “Are you mad?”

“Yes,” said Mr. Prohack.

“Well,” said she.  “If you think I shall walk about London with sixteen thousand five hundred pounds round my neck you’re mistaken.”

“But I insist!  You were a martyr and our marriage was ruined because I didn’t give you real pearls.  I intend you shall have real pearls.”

“But not these,” said Eve.  “It’s too much.  It’s a fortune.”

“I am aware of that,” Mr. Prohack agreed.  “But what is sixteen thousand five hundred pounds to me?”

“Truly I couldn’t, darling,” Eve wheedled.

“I am not your darling,” said Mr. Prohack.  “How can I be your darling when you’re never going to forgive me?  Look here.  I’ll let you choose another necklace, but only on the condition that you forgive all my alleged transgressions, past, present and to come.”

She kissed him.

“You can have the one at five thousand guineas,” said Mr. Prohack.  “Nothing less.  That is my ultimatum.  Put it on.  Put it on, quick!  Or I may change my mind.”

He recalled the experts who, when they heard the grave news, smiled bravely, and looked upon Eve as upon a woman whose like they might never see again.

“My wife will wear the necklace at once,” said Mr. Prohack.  “Pen and ink, please.”  He wrote a cheque.  “My car is outside.  Perhaps you will send some one up to my bank immediately and cash this.  We will wait.  I have warned the bank.  There will be no delay.  The case can be delivered at my house.  You can make out the receipt and usual guarantee while we’re waiting.”  And so it occurred as he had ordained.

“Would you care for us to arrange for the insurance?  We undertake to do it as cheaply as anybody,” the expert suggested, later.

Mr. Prohack was startled, for in his inexperience he had not thought of such complications.

“I was just going to suggest it,” he answered placidly.

“I feel quite queer,” said Eve, as she fingered the necklace, in the car, when all formalities were accomplished and they had left the cave of Aladdin.

“And well you may, my child,” said Mr. Prohack.  “The interest on the price of that necklace would about pay the salary of a member of Parliament or even of a professional cricketer.  And remember that whenever you wear the thing you are in danger of being waylaid, brutally attacked, and robbed.”

“I wish you wouldn’t be silly,” Eve murmured.  “I do hope I shan’t seem self-conscious at the lunch.”

“We haven’t reached the lunch yet,” Mr. Prohack replied.  “We must go and buy a safe first.  There’s no safe worth twopence in the house, and a really safe safe is essential.  And I want it to be clearly understood that I shall keep the key of that safe.  We aren’t playing at necklaces now.  Life is earnest.”

And when they had bought a safe and were once more in the car, he said, examining her impartially:  “After all, at a distance of four feet it doesn’t look nearly so grand as the one that’s lying at Scotland Yard-I gave thirty pounds for that one.”