" replied Mr. Prohack, who had undoubtedly eaten rather too much,
"take it how you like. I do believe I could do with a bit more of this
stuff that imitates an omelette but obviously isn't one."

"Oh! But there isn't any more!" said Sissie, somewhat dashed.

"No more! Good heavens! Then have you got some cheese, or anything of
that sort?"

"No. I don't keep cheese in the place. You see, the smell of it in these
little flats--"

"Any bread? Anything at all?"

"I'm afraid we've finished up pretty nearly all there was, except
Ozzie's egg for breakfast to-morrow morning."

"This is serious," observed Mr. Prohack, tapping enquiringly the
superficies of his digestive apparatus.

"Arthur!" cried Eve. "Why are you such a tease to-night? You're only
trying to make the child feel awkward. You know you've had quite enough.
And I'm sure it was all very cleverly cooked--considering. You'll be ill
in the middle of the night if you keep on, and then I shall have to get
up and look after you, as usual." Eve had the air of defending her
daughter, but something, some reserve in her voice, showed that she was
defending, not her daughter, but merely and generally the whole race of
house-wives against the whole race of consuming and hypercritical males;
she was even defending the Eve who had provided much-criticised meals in
the distant past. Such was her skill that she could do this while
implying, so subtly yet so effectively, that Sissie, the wicked,
shameless, mamma-scorning bride, was by no means forgiven in the secret
heart of the mother.

"You are doubtless right, lady," Mr. Prohack agreed. "You always could
judge better than I could myself when I had had enough, and what would
be the ultimate consequences of my eating. And as for your lessons in
manners, what an ill-bred lout I was before I met you, and what an
impossible person I should have been had you not taken me in hand night
and day for all these years! It isn't that I'm worse than the average
husband; it is merely that wives are the sole repositories of the
civilising influence. Were it not for them we should still be tearing
steaks to pieces with our fingers. I daresay I have eaten enough--anyhow
I've had far more than anybody else--and even if I hadn't, it would not
be at all nice of me not to pretend that I hadn't. And after all, if the
worst comes to the worst, I can always have a slice of cold beef and a
glass of beer when I get home, can't I?"

Sissie, thoug