Part 29 (1/2)
You do wild and rash things--you have already accomplished several this morning. But you have righteous instincts, though not often enough. Of course, with one word to the insurance company I could save you. The difficulty is that I could not save you without saving Mr. Carrel Quire also. And it would be very wrong of me to save Mr. Carrel Quire, for to save him would be to jeopardise the future of the British Empire, because unless he is scotched, that man's frantic egotism and ruthless ambition will achieve political disaster for four hundred million human beings. I should like to save you. But can I weigh you in the balance against an Empire? Can I, I say?”
”No,” answered Miss Winstock weakly but sincerely.
”That's just where you're wrong,” said Mr. Prohack. ”I can. And you are shamefully ignorant of history. Never yet when empire, any empire, has been weighed in the balance against a young and attractive woman has the young woman failed to win! That is a dreadful fact, but men are thus const.i.tuted. Had you been a hag, I should not have hesitated to do my duty to my country. But as you are what you are, and sitting so agreeably in my car, I will save you and let my country go.”
”Oh! Mr. Prohack, you are very kind--but every one told me you were.”
”No! I am a knave. Also there is a condition.”
”I will agree to anything.”
”You must leave Mr. Carrel Quire's service. That man is dangerous not only to empires. The entire environment is the very worst decently possible for a girl like you. Get away from it. If you don't undertake to give him notice at once, and withdraw entirely from his set, then I will ruin both you and him.”
”But I shall starve,” cried Miss Winstock. ”I shall never find another place without influence, and I have no more influence.”
”Have the Winstocks no money?”
”Not a penny.”
”And have the Paulles no money?”
”None for me.”
”You are the ideal programme-girl in a theatre,” said Mr. Prohack. ”You will never starve. Excuse me for a few minutes. I have another very important appointment,” he added, as the car stopped in Piccadilly.
After a quarter of an hour spent in learning that suits were naught, neckties were naught, s.h.i.+rts, collars, socks and even braces were naught, but that hats alone made a man of fas.h.i.+on 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 Ma.s.sulam's car?”
”Was that Lady Ma.s.sulam?” asked Mr. Prohack before he had had time to recover from the immense effect of hearing the startling, almost legendary name of Lady Ma.s.sulam 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.”
”So it is. I remember now. Well, it won't do at all. Never mention it again, please.”
When he had accompanied Mimi to a neighbouring post office and sent off a suitable telegram of farewell to Mr. Carrel Quire in her name, Mr.