"You _will_ get used to it, Arthur," said Sir Paul indulgently but not unironically, at the end of Mr. Prohack's disquisition. "You're in a nervous state and your judgment's warped. Now, I never even heard your famous clock strike ten." "No, you wouldn't, Paul! And my judgment's warped, is it?" There was irritation in Mr. Prohack's voice. He took out his watch. "In sixty or seventy seconds you shall hear that clock strike eleven, and you shall give me your honest views about it. And you shall apologise to me." Sir Paul obediently and sympathetically listened, while the murmur of the glowing reception and the low beat of music continued within. "You tell me when it starts to strike," said he. "You won't want any telling," said Mr. Prohack, who knew too well the riving, rending, smashing sound of the terrible bells. "It's a pretty long seventy seconds," observed Sir Paul. "My watch must be fast," said Mr. Prohack, perturbed. But at eighteen minutes past eleven the clock had audibly struck neither the hour nor the quarter. Sir Paul was a man of tact. He said simply: "I should like a drink, dear old boy." "_The clock's not striking_," said Mr. Prohack, with solemn joy, as the wonderful truth presented itself to him. "Either it's stopped, or they've cut off the striking attachment." And to one of the maids on the landing he said as they passed towards the buffet: "Run out and see what time it is by the church clock, and come back and tell me, will you?" A few minutes later he was informed that the church clock showed half-past eleven. The clock therefore was still going but had ceased to strike. Mr. Prohack at once drank two glasses of champagne at the buffet, while Sir Paul had the customary whiskey. "I say, old thing, I say!" Sir Paul protested. "_I shall sleep!_" said Mr. Prohack in a loud, gay, triumphant voice. He was a new man. * * * * *