“My poor boy,” Mr. Prohack interrupted him.  “Do try not to be an ass.”  And he had the pleasing illusion that Charles was just home from school.  “And, mind, not one word, not one word, to anybody whatever.”

VI

The other three were still modestly chatting in the living-room when the two great mysterious men of affairs returned to them, but Sissie had cleared the dining-room table and transformed the place into a drawing-room for the remainder of the evening.  They were very feminine; even Ozzie had something of the feminine attitude of fatalistic attending upon events beyond feminine control; he had it, indeed, far more than the vigorous-minded Sissie had it.  They were cheerful, with a cheerfulness that made up in tact what it lacked in sincerity.  Mr. Prohack compared them to passengers on a ship which is in danger.  With a word, with an inflection, he reassured everybody—­and yet said naught—­and the cheerfulness instantly became genuine.

Mr. Prohack was surprised at the intensity of his own feelings.  He was thoroughly thrilled by what he himself had done.  Perhaps he had gone too far in telling Charlie that the putting down of a hundred and fifty thousand pounds could be accomplished without necessitating any change in his manner of living; but he did not care what change might be involved.  He had the sense of having performed a huge creative act, and of the reality of the power of riches,—­for weeks he had not been imaginatively cognisant of the fact that he was rich.

He glanced secretly at the boy Charles, and said to himself:  “To that boy I am like a god.  He was dead, and I have resurrected him.  He may achieve an enormous reputation after all.  Anyhow he is an amazing devil of a fellow, and he’s my son, and no one comprehends him as I do.”  And Mr. Prohack became jolly to the point of uproariousness—­without touching a glass.  He was intoxicated, not by the fermentation of grapes, but by the magnitude and magnificence of his own gesture.  He was the monarch of the company, and getting a bit conceited about it.

The sole creature who withstood him in any degree was Sissie.  She had firmness.  “She has married the right man,-” said Mr. Prohack to himself.  “The so-called feminine instinct is for the most part absurd, but occasionally it justifies its reputation.  She has chosen her husband with unerring insight into her needs and his.  He will be happy; she will have the anxieties of responsible power.  But I am not her husband.”  And he spoke aloud, masterfully: 

“Sissie!”

“Yes, dad?  What now?”

“I’ve satisfactorily transacted affairs with my son.  I will now try to do the same with my daughter.  A few moments with you in the council-chamber, please.  Oswald also, if you like.”

Sissie smiled kindly at her awaiting spouse.

“Perhaps I’d better deal with my own father alone, darling.”