Mr. Prohack

  II

  Having entered his house as it were surreptitiously, and avoided hischildren, Mr. Prohack peeped through the half-open door between theconjugal bedroom and the small adjoining room, which should have been adressing-room, but which Mrs. Prohack styled her boudoir. He espied herstanding sideways in front of the long mirror, her body prettily curvedand her head twisted over her shoulder so that she could seethree-quarters of her back in the mirror. An attitude familiar to Mr.Prohack and one that he liked! She was wearing the Chinese garment ofthe morning, but he perceived that she had done something to it. He madea sharp noise with the handle of the door. She shrieked and started, andas soon as she had recovered she upbraided him, and as soon as she hadupbraided him she asked him anxiously what he thought of the robe,explaining that it was really too good for a dressing-gown, that withcareful treatment it would wear for ever, that it could not have beenbought now for a hundred pounds or at least eighty, that it was inessence far superior to many frocks worn by women who had more money andless taste than herself, that she had transformed it into a dinner-dressfor quiet evenings at home, and that she had done this as part of herpart of the new economy scheme. It would save all her other frocks, andas for a dressing-gown, she had two old ones in her reserves.

  Mr. Prohack kissed her and told her to sit down on the little sofa.

  "To see the effect of it sitting down?" she asked.

  "If you like," said he.

  "Then you don't care for it? You think it's ridiculous?" said sheanxiously, when she had sat down.

  He replied, standing in front of her:

  "You know that Oxford Concise Dictionary that I bought just before thewar? Where is it?"

  "Arthur!" she said. "What's the matter with you? You look so queer. Isuppose the dictionary's where you keep it. _I_ never touch it."

  "I want you to be sure to remind me to cross the word 'economy' out ofit to-night. In fact I think I'd better tear out the whole page."

  "Arthur!" she exclaimed again. "Are you ill? Has anything serioushappened? I warn you I can't stand much more to-day."

  "Something very serious has happened," answered the incorrigible Mr.Prohack. "It may be all for the best; it may be all for the worst.Depends how you look at it. Anyway I'm determined to tell you. Of courseI shouldn't dream of telling anybody else until I'd told you." He seatedhimself by her side. There was just space enough for the two of them onthe sofa.

  "Oh, dear!" sighed Mrs. Prohack, with apprehension, and instinctivelyshe stretched her arm out and extinguished one of the lights.

  He had been touched by her manoeuvre, half economy and half coquetry,with the Chinese dress. He was still more touched by the gesture ofextinguishing a light. For a year or two past Mrs. Prohack had beenputting forward a theory that an average degree of illumination triedher eyes, and the household was now accustomed to twilit rooms in theevening. Mr. Prohack knew that the recent taste for obscurity hadnothing to do with her eyes and everything to do with her years, but hepretended to be deceived by her duplicity. Not for millions would hehave given her cause to suspect that he was not perfectly deceived. Heunderstood and sympathised with her in all her manifestations. He didnot select choice pieces of her character for liking, and dislike ordisapprove of the rest. He took her undivided, unchipped, and liked thewhole of her. It was very strange.

  When he married her he had assumed, but was not sure, that he loved her.For thirteen or fourteen years she had endangered the bond between themby what seemed to him to be her caprices, illogicalities, perversities,and had saved it by her charming demonstrations of affection. Duringthis period he had remained as it were neutral--an impassive spectatorof her union with a man who happened to be himself. He had observed andweighed all her faults, and had concluded that she was not worse thanother wives whom he respected. He continued to wonder what it was thatheld them together. At length, and very slowly indeed, he had begun tohave a revelation, not of her but of himself. He guessed that he must beprofoundly in love with her and that his original assumption was muchmore than accurate,--it was a bull's-eye. His love developed into apassion, not one of your eruptive, scalding affairs, but something asplacid as an English landscape, with white heat far, far below thesurface.

  He felt how fine and amusing it was to have a genuine, incurable,illogical passion for a woman,--a passion that was almost an instinct.He deliberately cultivated it and dwelt on it and enjoyed it. He likedreflecting upon it. He esteemed that it must be about the mostsatisfying experience in the entire realm of sentiment, and that noother earthly experience of any sort could approach it. He made thisdiscovery for himself, with the same sensations as if he had discovereda new star or the circulation of the blood. Of course he knew thattwo-thirds of the imaginative literature of the world was based on, andillustrative of, this great human discovery, and therefore that he wasnot exactly a pioneer. No matter! He was a pioneer all the same.

  "Do you remember a fellow named Angmering?" he began, on a note of theclosest confiding intimacy--a note which always flattered and delightedhis wife.

  "Yes."

  "What was he like?"

  "Wasn't he the man that started to run away with Ronnie Philps' wife andthought better of it and got her out of the train at Crewe and put herinto the London train that was standing at the other platform and lefther without a ticket? Was it Crewe or Rugby--I forget which?"

  "No, no. You're all mixed up. That wasn't Angmering."

  "Well, you have such funny friends, darling. Tell me, then."

  "Angmering never ran away with anybody except himself. He went toAmerica and before he left I lent him a hundred pounds."

  "Arthur, I'll swear you never told me that at the time. In fact youalways said positively you wouldn't lend money to anybody. You promisedme. I hope he's paid you back."

  "He hasn't. And I've just heard he's dead."

  "I felt that was coming. Yes. I knew from the moment you began to talkthat it was something of that kind. And just when we could do with thathundred pounds--heaven knows! Oh, Arthur!"

  "He's dead," said Mr. Prohack clinchingly, "but he's left me tenthousand a year. Ha, ha!--Ha, ha!" He put his hand on her soft shoulderand gave a triumphant wink.

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