ill, I'll tell you. You always like to be told what you
know,--for instance, that I'm in love with you. I can't tell those kids
to-night, and I'm not going to. The rumpus, the conflict of ideas, the
atmospheric disturbance when they do get to know will be terrific, and
I simply won't have it to-night. I must have a quiet evening to think in
or else I shan't sleep. On the other hand, do you suppose I could sit
through dinner opposite you, and you knowing all about it and me knowing
all about it, and both of us pretending that there was nothing unusual
in the air? It's impossible. Either you'd give the show away, or I
should. Or I should burst out laughing. No! I can manage the situation
alone, but I can't manage it if you're there. Hence, lady, you will keep
your kind promise and hop into bed."

Without another word, but smiling in a most enigmatic manner, Mrs.
Prohack passed into the bedroom. The tyrant lit a cigarette, and
stretched himself all over the sofa. He thought:

"She's a great woman. She understands. Or at any rate she acts as if she
did. Now how many women in similar circumstances would have--" Etc. Etc.

He listened to her movements. He had not told her everything, for
example, the profiteering origin of the fortune, and he wondered whether
he had behaved quite nicely in not doing so.

"Arthur," she called from the bedroom.

"Hullo?"

"I do think this is really too silly."

"You're not paid to think, my girl."

A pause.

"Arthur," she called from the bedroom.

"Hullo?"

"You're sure you won't blurt it out to them when I'm not there?"

He only replied: "I'm sorry you've got such a frightful headache,
Marian. You wouldn't have these headaches if you took my advice."

A pause.

"I'm in bed."

"All right. Stay there."

When he had finished his cigarette, he went into the bedroom. Yes, she
was veritably in bed.

"You are a pig, Arthur. I wonder how many wives--"

He put his hand over her mouth.

"Stop," he said. "I'm not like you. I don't need to be told what I know
already."

"But really--!" She dropped her head on one side and began to laugh, and
continued to laugh, rather hysterically, until she could not laugh any
more. "Oh, dear! We are the queerest pair!"

"It is possible," said he. "You're forgotten the eau-de-cologne." He
handed her the bottle. "It is quite possible that we're the queerest
pair, but this is a very serious day in the history of the Prohack
family. The Prohack