egged, in a very familiar
style, that Mr. Prohack and wife would join himself and Miss Fancy on an
early day at a little luncheon party, and he announced that the 'highly
desirable event to the possibility of which he had alluded' on the
previous evening, had duly occurred. Strange, the fellow's eagerness to
publish his engagement to a person of more notoriety than distinction!
The fellow must have "popped the question" while escorting Miss Fancy
home in the middle of the night, and he must have written the note
before breakfast and despatched it by special messenger. What a
mentality!

Mr. Prohack desired now a whole series of baths. And he was very
harassed indeed. If he, by a fluke, had discovered the escapade of the
church-tower and the church-clock, why should not others discover it by
other flukes? Was it conceivable that such a matter should forever
remain a secret? The thing, to Mr. Prohack's sick imagination, was like
a bomb with a fuse attached and the fuse lighted. When the bomb did go
off, what trouble for an entirely innocent Mr. Prohack! And he loathed
the notion of his proud, strong daughter being affianced to a man who,
however excellent intrinsically, was the myrmidon of that sublime
showman, Mr. Asprey Chown. And he hated his connection with Mr. Softly
Bishop and with Miss Fancy. Could he refuse the invitation to the little
luncheon party? He knew that he could not refuse it. His connection with
these persons was indisputable and the social consequences of it could
not be fairly avoided. As for the matter of the necklace, he held that
he could deal with that,--but could he? He lacked confidence in himself.
Even his fixed interest-bearing securities might, by some inconceivable
world-catastrophe, cease to bear interest, and then where would he be?

Philosophy! Philosophy was absurdly unpractical. Philosophy could not
cope with real situations. Where had he sinned? Nowhere. He had taken
Dr. Veiga's advice and given up trying to fit his environment to himself
instead of vice versa. He had let things rip and shown no egotistic
concern in the business of others. But was he any better off in his
secret soul? Not a whit. He ought to have been happy; he was miserable.
On every hand the horizon was dark, and the glitter of seventeen
thousand pounds per annum did not lighten it by the illuminative power
of a single candle.... But his feverish hand gratefully remembered
Mimi's kiss.

VI

Nevertheless, as t