After a quarter of an hour spent in learning that suits were naught, neckties were naught, shirts, collars, socks and even braces were naught, but that hats alone made a man of fashion and idleness, Mr. Prohack returned to Miss Winstock and announced:
"I will engage you as my private secretary. I need one very badly indeed. In fact I cannot understand how, with all my engagements, I have been able to manage without one so long. Your chief duties will be to keep on good terms with my wife and daughter, and not to fall in love with my son. If you were not too deeply preoccupied with my chauffeur, you may have noticed a young man who came out of the tailors' just before I did. That was my son."
"Oh!" exclaimed Miss Winstock, "the boy who drove off in Lady Massulam's car?"
"Was that Lady Massulam?" asked Mr. Prohack before he had had time to recover from the immense effect of hearing the startling, almost legendary name of Lady Massulam in connection with his son.
"Of course," said Miss Winstock. "Didn't you know?"
Mr. Prohack ignored her pertness.
"Well," he proceeded, having now successfully concealed his emotion, "after having dealt as I suggest with my wife and children, you will deal with my affairs. You shall have the same salary as Mr. Carrel Quire paid—or forgot to pay. Do you agree or not?"
"I should love it," replied Miss Winstock with enthusiasm.
"What is your Christian name?"
"Mimi."