“Possibly,” answered the superior ironic father in Mr. Prohack, who besides being sick of the luncheon party was determined that nothing should interfere with his Median and Persian programme.  “Possibly.  But that will be for another time.”

“Well, to-night then,” said Charlie, dashed somewhat.

“Perhaps,” said Mr. Prohack.  Yet he was burning to hear his son’s word.

II

However, Mr. Prohack did not succeed in loosing himself from the embraces of the Grand Babylon Hotel for another thirty minutes.  He offered to abandon the car, to abandon everything to his wife and daughter, and to reach his next important appointment by the common methods of conveyance employed by common people; but the ladies would permit no such thing; they announced their firm intention of personally escorting him to his destination.  The party seemed to be unable to break up.  There was a considerable confabulation between Eve and Lady Massulam at the entrance to the lift.

Mr. Prohack noticed anew that Eve’s attitude to Lady Massulam was still a flattering one.  Indeed Eve showed that in her opinion the meeting with so great a personage as Lady Massulam was not quite an ordinary episode in her simple existence.  And Lady Massulam was now talking with a free flow to Eve.  As soon as the colloquy had closed and Eve had at length joined her simmering husband in the lift, Charlie must have a private chat with Lady Massulam, apart, mysterious, concerning their affairs, whatever their affairs might be!  In spite of himself, Mr. Prohack was impressed by the demeanour of the young man and the mature blossom of womanhood to each other.  They exhibited a mutual trust; they understood each other; they liked each other.  She was more than old enough to be his mamma, and yet as she talked to him she somehow became a dignified girl.  Mr. Prohack was disturbed in a manner which he would never have admitted,—­how absurd to fancy that Lady Massulam had in her impressive head a notion of marrying the boy!  Still, such unions had occurred!—­but he was pleasantly touched, too.

Then Oswald Morfey and Sissie made another couple, very different, more animated, and equally touching.  Ozzie seemed to grow more likeable, and less despicable, under the honest and frankly ardent gaze of Miss Prohack; and Mr. Prohack was again visited by a doubt whether the fellow was after all the perfectly silly ass which he was reputed to be.

In the lift, Lady Massulam having offered her final adieux, Ozzie opened up to Mrs. Prohack the subject of an organisation called the United League of all the Arts.  Mr. Prohack would not listen to this.  He hated leagues, and especially leagues of arts.  He knew in the marrow of his spine that they were preposterous; but Mrs. Prohack and Sissie listened with unfeigned eagerness to the wonderful tale of the future of the United League of all the Arts.  And when, emerging from the lift, Mr. Prohack strolled impatiently on ahead, the three stood calmly moveless to converse, until Mr. Prohack had to stroll impatiently back again.  As for Charlie, he stood by himself; there was leisure for the desired word with his father, but Mr. Prohack had bluntly postponed that, and thus the leisure was wasted.