“Tell me something about some of your cases,” said Mr. Prohack imperatively.  “You’re one of the most interesting men I’ve ever met.  So now you know.  We want some of your blood transfused, into the English character.  You’ve got a soul above medicine as well as clothes.”

“All good doctors have,” said Dr. Veiga.  “My life is a romance.”

“And so shall mine be,” said Mr. Prohack.

* * * * *

III

When at length Mr. Prohack escorted Dr. Veiga out into the hall he saw Sissie kissing Eliza Brating with much affection on the front-door step.  They made an elegant group for a moment and then Eliza Brating departed hurriedly, disappearing across the street behind Dr. Veiga’s attendant car.

“Now I’ll just repeat once more to both of you,” resumed Dr. Veiga, embracing father and daughter in one shrewd glance.  “You’ve nothing to worry about upstairs.”  He indicated the boudoir by a movement of his somewhat tousled head.  “But you’ve got just a little to worry about here.”  And he indicated Mr. Prohack.

“I know,” said Sissie with assurance.  “But I shall look after him, doctor.  You can rely on me.  I understand—­both cases.”

“Well, there’s one good thing,” said Sissie, following her father into the dining-room after the doctor had gone.  “I’ve done with that foolish Eliza.  I knew it couldn’t last and it hasn’t.  Unless I’m there all the time to keep my eye on everything—­of course it all goes to pieces.  That girl is the biggest noodle...!”

“But haven’t I just seen you and her joined in the deepest affection?”

“Naturally I had to kiss her.  But I’ve finished with her.  And what’s more, she knows what I think of her.  She never liked me.”

“Sissie,” said Mr. Prohack, “you shock me.”  And indeed he was genuinely shocked, for he had always thought that Sissie was different from other girls; that she had all the feminine qualities without any of the feminine defects.  Yes, he had thought that she might develop into a creature more perfect even than Marian.  And here she was talking and behaving exactly as men at the club would relate of their own conventional women.

Sissie gazed firmly at her father, as it were half in pity and half in disdain.  Did the innocent fellow not then understand the nature of women?  Or was he too sentimental to admit it, too romantic to be a realist?

“Would you believe,” said Sissie, “that although I was there last night and told her exactly what to do, she’s had a quarrel this morning with the landlord of the studio?  Well, she has.  You know the A.R.A. on the first floor has been making a lot of silly complaints about the noise—­music and so on—­every night.  And some other people have complained. I could have talked the landlord round in ten minutes!  Eliza doesn’t merely not talk him round,—­she quarrels