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Updated: May 18, 2025
Prohack hated the place, and at once determined to fight powerfully against Sissie's declared intention of starting married life in her husband's bachelor-flat, for the sake of economy. He would force the pair, if necessary, to accept from him a flat rent-free, or he would even purchase for them one of those bijou residences of which he had heard tell.
A nice young girl, whom he had never seen before and as to whom he knew nothing except that she was probably one of his menials, was so moved that she nearly had an accident with a tea-tray which she was carrying. "What is your name?" Mr. Prohack benignly asked. "Selina, sir." "Where are you going with that tea-tray and newspaper?" "I was just taking it upstairs to Machin, sir.
"It seems to me that you'd better read this yourself," she said, naughtily. The letter was from Lady Massulam, signed only with her initials, announcing with a queer brevity that she had suddenly decided to go back at once to her native country to live. "How strange!" exclaimed Mr. Prohack, trying to be airy. "Listen! What do you make of it. You're a woman, aren't you?"
Prohack hear immediately if there was anything to communicate. Wonderful organisation, the London police force! As he hung up the receiver he realised what had occurred and what he had done. Marian had mysteriously disappeared and he had informed the police, he, Arthur Prohack, C.B. What an awful event! His mind ran on the consequences of traumatic neurasthenia.
I'm not sure if I shall be in for tea, but I will be if you think you'll be lonely." "Did you do much entertaining at lunch, young woman?" Mr. Prohack asked. "Charlie had several people men but I really don't know who they were. And Ozzie Morfey came. And permit me to inform you that Charlie was simply knocked flat by my qualities as a hostess. Do you know what he said to me afterwards?
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. However, Mr. Prohack did not succeed in loosing himself from the embraces of the Grand Babylon Hotel for another thirty minutes.
"Oh!" said she. "It's Ozzie." "Who's Ozzie?" Charlie demanded, without thought. "No doubt Oswald Morfey," said Mr. Prohack, scoring over his son. "He wants to see me. May I ask him to come up for coffee?" "Oh! Do!" said Sissie, also without thought. She then blushed. Mr. Prohack thought suspiciously and apprehensively: "I bet anything he's found out that my daughter is here."
The prison depicted was a terrible place of torment, but it was beautiful, and the view of it made Mr. Prohack fancy, very absurdly, that he too was in prison, just as securely as if he had been bolted and locked therein. His eye ranged about the room and saw nothing that was not lovely and that he did not admire.
One of these doors was open, and in the doorway could be seen the latter half of a woman and the forward half of a carpet-brush. She was evidently brushing the carpet of a room and gradually coming out of the room and into the passage. She wore a large blue pinafore apron, and she was so absorbed in her business that the advent of Mr. Prohack passed quite unnoticed by her. Mr. Prohack waited.
Ozzie half rose out of his chair. "Or do you love her? The two things are very different." "I beg your pardon, sir. I hadn't quite grasped," said Ozzie apologetically, subsiding. "I quite see what you mean. I'm both." "You are a wonder!" Mr. Prohack murmured. "Anyway, sir, I'm glad you don't object to our engagement." "My dear Oswald," said Mr. Prohack in a new tone.
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