He could not have assisted at the terrible interview between Eve and the erring daughter who had inveigled her own betrothed into a premature marriage.  Sissie at any rate had pluck, and she must also have had an enormous moral domination over Ozzie to have succeeded in forcing him to join her in a tragic scene.  What a honeymoon!  To what a pass had society come!  Mr. Prohack drove straight to the Monument, and paid more money for the privilege of climbing it.  He next visited the Tower.  The day seemed to consist of twenty-four thousand hours.  He dined at the Trocadero Restaurant, solitary at a table under the shadow of the bass fiddle of the orchestra; and finally he patronised Maskelyne and Cook’s entertainment, and witnessed the dissipation of solid young women into air.  He reached home, as it was humorously called, at ten thirty.

“Mrs. Prohack has retired for the night, sir,” said Brool, who never permitted his employers merely to go to bed, “and wishes not to be disturbed.”

“Thank God!” breathed Mr. Prohack.

“Yes, sir,” said Brool, dutifully acquiescent.

IV

The next morning Eve behaved to her husband exactly as if nothing untoward had happened.  She kissed and was kissed.  She exhibited sweetness without gaiety, and a general curiosity without interest.  She said not a word concerning the visit of Sissie and Ozzie.  She expressed the hope that Mr. Prohack had had a pleasant evening and slept well.  Her anxiety to be agreeable to Mr. Prohack was touching,—­it was angelic.  To the physical eye all was as usual, but Mr. Prohack was aware that in a single night she had built a high and unscalable wall between him and her; a wall which he could see through and which he could kiss through, but which debarred him utterly from her.  And yet what sin had he committed against her, save the peccadillo of locking her for an hour or two in a comfortable room?  It was Sissie, not he, who had committed the sin.  He wanted to point this out to Eve, but he appreciated the entire futility of doing so and therefore refrained.  About eleven o’clock Eve knocked at and opened his study door.

“May I come in—­or am I disturbing you?” she asked brightly.

“Don’t be a silly goose,” said Mr. Prohack, whose rising temper—­he hated angels—­was drowning his tact.  Smiling as though he had thrown her a compliment, Eve came in, and shut the door.

“I’ve just received this,” she said.  “It came by messenger.”  And she handed him a letter signed with the name of Crewd, the private detective.  The letter ran:  “Madam, I beg to inform you that I have just ascertained that the driver of taxi No. 5437 has left at New Scotland Yard a pearl necklace which he found in his vehicle.  He states that he drove a lady and gentleman from your house to Waterloo Station on the evening of your reception, but can give no description of them.  I mention the matter pro forma, but do not anticipate that it can interest you as the police authorities at New Scotland Yard declare the pearls to be false.  Yours obediently....  P.S.  I called upon you in order to communicate the above facts yesterday, but you were not at home.”