eing disturbed. He did not worry about his
adventurous son. He did not worry about the possibility of Oswald Morfey
having a design to convert his daughter into Mrs. Oswald Morfey. He did
not worry about the fate of the speculation in which he had joined Sir
Paul Spinner. Nor did he worry about the malady called traumatic
neurasthenia. As for himself he fancied that he had not for years felt
better than he felt at that moment. He was aware of the most delicious
sensation of sharing a perfect nocturnal solitude with his wife. He drew
her towards him until her acquiescent head lay against his waistcoat. He
held her body in his arms, and came deliberately to the conclusion that
to be alive was excellent.

Eve's body was as yielding as that of a young girl. To Mr. Prohack, who
of course was the dupe of an illusion, it had an absolutely enchanting
girlishness. She sobbed and she sobbed, and Mr. Prohack let her sob. He
loosed the grip of his arms a little, so that her face, free of his
waistcoat, was turned upwards in the direction of the ceiling; and then
he very caressingly wiped her eyes with his own handkerchief. He gave an
elaborate care to the wiping of her eyes. For some minutes it was a
Sisyphean labour, for what he did she immediately undid; but after a
time the sobs grew less frequent, and at length they ceased; only her
lips trembled at intervals.

Mr. Prohack said ingratiatingly:

"And whose fault is it if I'm funny? Answer, you witch."

"I don't know," Eve murmured tremblingly and not quite articulately.

"It's your fault. Do you know that you gave me the fright of my life
to-night, going out without saying where you were going to? Do you know
that you put me into such a state that I've been telephoning to
police-stations to find out whether there'd been any street accidents
happening to a woman of your description? I was so upset that I daren't
even go upstairs and call Sissie."

"You said you'd only been back five minutes when I came," Eve observed
in a somewhat firmer voice.

"I did," said Mr. Prohack. "But that was neither more nor less than a
downright lie. You see I was in such a state that I had to pretend, to
both you and myself, that things aren't what they are.... And then,
without the slightest warning, you suddenly arrive without a scratch on
you. You aren't hurt. You aren't even dead. It's a scandalous shame that
a woman should be able, by merely arriving in a taxi, to put a sensible
man into