back?"

"No, you didn't! And you know very well you didn't!"

"Honestly," said Mr. Prohack (meaning "dishonestly" as most people do in
similar circumstances), "I thought I did."

"Do you suppose I should have slept one wink if I'd thought Sissie
wasn't coming _home_?"

"Yes, I do. The death of Nelson wouldn't keep you awake. And now either
I shall be late at the office, or else I shall go without my breakfast.
I think you might have wakened me."

Mrs. Prohack, munching the cake despite all her anxieties, replied in a
peculiar tone:

"What does it matter if you are late for the office?"

Mr. Prohack reflected that all women were alike in a lack of conscience
where the public welfare was concerned. He was rich: therefore he was
entitled to neglect his duty to the nation! A pleasing argument! Mr.
Prohack sat up, and Mrs. Prohack had a full view of his face for the
first time that morning.

"Arthur," she exclaimed, absolutely and in an instant forgetting both
cake and daughter. "You're ill!"

He thought how agreeable it was to have a wife who was so marvellously
absorbed in his being. There was something uncanny, something terrible,
in it.

"Oh, no I'm not," he said. "I swear I'm not. I'm very tired, but I'm not
ill. Get out of my way."

"But your face is as yellow as a cheese," protested Eve, frightened.

"It may be," said Mr. Prohack.

"You won't get up."

"I shall get up."

Eve snatched her hand-mirror from the dressing-table, and gave it to him
with a menacing gesture. He admitted to himself that the appearance of
his face was perhaps rather alarming at first sight; but really he did
not feel ill; he only felt tired.

"It's nothing. Liver." He made a move to emerge from the bed. "Exercise
is all I want."

He saw Eve's lips tremble; he saw tears hanging in her eyes; these
phenomena induced in him the sensation of having somehow committed a
solecism or a murder. He withdrew the move to emerge. She was hurt and
desperate. He at once knew himself defeated. He thought how annoying it
was to have a woman in the house who was so marvellously absorbed in his
being. She was wrong; but her unreasoning desperation triumphed over his
calm sagacity.

"Telephone for Dr. Veiga," said Mrs. Prohack to Machin, for whom she had
rung. "V-e-i-g-a. Bruton Street. He's in the book. And ask him to come
along as soon as he can to see Mr. Prohack."

Now Mr. Prohack had heard of, but never seen, Dr. Veiga. He had more
t