There was a note of intimacy and of challenge in Lady Massulam's demeanour that pleased Mr. Prohack immensely, and caused him to see that the romance of Frinton was neither factitious nor at an end. He felt pleasantly, and even thrillingly, that they had something between them. "Ah!" he returned, consciously exerting his charm. "I thought you detested our English formality and horrible restraint. Further, this isn't my house; it's my wife's." "Your wife is wonderful!" said Lady Massulam, as though teaching him to appreciate his wife and indicating that she alone had the right thus to teach him,--the subtlest thing. "I've never seen an evening better done--_reussie_." "She is rather wonderful," Mr. Prohack admitted, his tone implying that while putting Lady Massulam in a class apart, he had wit enough to put his wife too in a class apart,--the subtlest thing. "I quite expected to meet you again in Frinton," said Lady Massulam simply. "How abrupt you are in your methods!" "Only when it's a case of self-preservation," Mr. Prohack responded, gazing at her with daring significance. "I'm going to talk to Mrs. Prohack," said Lady Massulam, rising. But before she left him she murmured confidentially in his ear: "Where's your son?" "Don't know. Why?' "I don't think he's come yet. I'm afraid the poor boy's affairs are not very bright." "I shall look after him," said Mr. Prohack, grandly. A qualm did pierce him at the sound of her words, but he would not be depressed. He smiled serenely, self-confidently, and said to himself: "I could look after forty Charleses." He watched his wife and his friend chatting together as equals in _The Daily Picture_. Yes, Eve was wonderful, and but for sheer hazard he would never have known how wonderful she was capable of being. "You've got a great show here to-night, old man," said a low, mysterious voice at his side. Mr. Softly Bishop was smiling down his nose and holding out his hand while looking at nothing but his nose. "Hello, Bishop!" said Mr. Prohack, controlling a desire to add: "I'd no idea _you'd_ been invited!" "Samples of every world--except the next," said Mr. Softly Bishop. "And now the theatrical contingent is arriving after its night's work." "Do you know who that fellow is?" Mr. Prohack demanded, indicating a little man with the aspect of a prize-fighter who was imperially conveying to Mrs. Prohack that Mrs. Prohack was lucky to get him to her reception. "Why!" replied Mr. Bishop. "That's the Napoleon of the stage." "Not Asprey Chown!" "Asprey Chown." "Great Scott!" And Mr. Prohack laughed. "Why are you laughing?" "Mere glee. This is the crown of my career as a man of the world." He saw Mr. Asprey Chown give a careless brusque nod to Ozzie Morfey, and he laughed again. "It's rather comic, isn't it?" Mr. Softly Bishop acquiesced. "I wonder why Oswald Morfey has abandoned his famous stock for an ordinary necktie." "Probably because he's going to be my son-in-law," said Mr. Prohack.