"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.