here
full of his grievance, and been very sarcastic when I offered him money
he didn't want. What a change! Oh, yes, he's getting on all right. He'll
come through."

And Mr. Prohack was suddenly much fonder of the boy and more inclined to
see in him the possibility of genius. But he was aware of apprehension
as to the relations forming between his son and Mimi. That girl appeared
to be establishing an empire over the great youthful prodigy of finance.
Was this desirable?... No, that was not the question. The question was:
Would Eve regard it as desirable? He could never explain to his wife how
deeply he had been touched by Mimi's mad solicitude for the slumber of
Charlie's father. And even if he could have explained Eve would never
have consented to understand.

CHAPTER XXI

EVE'S MARTYRDOM

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,