Part 65 (1/2)
”I don't mind the extravagance, because after all it's good for trade,”
said Eve. ”What I--”
”Mother darling!” Sissie protested. ”Where do you get these extraordinary ideas from about luxury being good for trade? Surely you ought to know--”
”I daresay I ought to know all sorts of things I don't know,” said Eve with dignity. ”But there's one thing I do know, and that is that the style of those two dreadful people was absolutely the worst I've ever met. The way that woman gabbled--and all about herself; and what an accent, and the way she held her fork!”
”Lady,” said Mr. Prohack. ”Don't be angry because she beat you.”
”Beat me!”
”Yes. Beat you. Both of you. You talked her to a standstill at first; but you couldn't keep it up. Then she began and she talked you to a standstill, and she could keep it up. She left you for all practical purposes dead on the field, my tigresses. And I'm very sorry for her,”
he added.
”Dad,” said Sissie sternly. ”Why do you always try to be so clever with us? You know as well as we do that she's a _creature_, and that there's nothing to be said for her at all.”
”Nothing to be said for her!” Mr. Prohack smiled tolerantly. ”Why she was the star of the universe for Silas Angmering, the founder of our fortunes. She was the finest woman he'd ever met. And Angmering was a clever fellow, let me tell you. You call her a creature. Yes, the creature of destiny, like all of us, except of course you. I beg to inform you that Miss Fancy went out of this hotel a victim, an unconscious victim, but a victim. She is going to be exploited. Mr.
Softly Bishop, my co-heir, will run her for all she is worth. He will make a lot of money out of her. He will make her work as she has never worked before. He will put a value on all her talents, for his own ends.
And he will deprive her of most of her accustomed pleasures. In fifteen years there'll be nothing left of Miss Fancy except an exhausted wreck with a spurious reputation, but Mr. Softly Bishop will still be in his prime and in the full enjoyment of life, and he will spend on himself the riches that she has made for him and allow her about sixpence a week; and the most tragic and terrible thing of all is that she will think she owes everything to him! No! If I was capable of weeping, I should have wept at the pathos of the spectacle of Miss Fancy as she left us just now unconscious of her fate and revelling in the most absurd illusions. That poor defenceless woman, who has had the misfortune not to please you, is heading straight for a life-long martyrdom.” Mr. Prohack ceased impressively.
”And serve her right!” said Eve. ”I've met cats in my time, but--” And Eve also ceased.
”And I am not sure,” added Mr. Prohack, still impressively. ”And I am not sure that the ingenuous and excellent Oswald Morfey is not heading straight in the same direction.” And he gazed at his adored daughter, who exhibited a faint flush, and then laughed lightly. ”Yes,” said Mr.
Prohack, ”you are very smart, my girl. If you had shown violence you would have made a sad mistake. That you should laugh with such a brilliant imitation of naturalness gives me hopes of you. Let us seek Carthew and the car. Mr. Bishop's luncheon, though I admit it was exceedingly painful, has, I trust, not been without its useful lessons to us, and I do not regret it. For myself I admit it has taught me that even the finest and most agreeable women, such as those with whom I have been careful to sourround myself in my domestic existence, are monsters of cruelty. Not that I care.”
”I've arranged with mamma that you shall come to dinner to-night,” said Sissie. ”No formality, please.”
”Mayn't your mother wear her pearls?” asked Mr. Prohack.
”I hope you noticed, Arthur,” said Eve with triumphant satisfaction, ”how your Miss Fancy was careful to keep off the subject of jewels.”
”Mother's pearls,” said Sissie primly, ”are mother's affair.”
Mr. Prohack did not feel at all happy.
”And yet,” he asked himself. ”What have I done? I am perfectly innocent.”
IV
”I never in all my life,” said Sissie, ”saw you eat so much, dad. And I think it's a great compliment to my cooking. In fact I'm bursting with modest pride.”
”Well,” replied Mr. Prohack, who had undoubtedly eaten rather too much, ”take it how you like. I do believe I could do with a bit more of this stuff that imitates an omelette but obviously isn't one.”
”Oh! But there isn't any more!” said Sissie, somewhat dashed.
”No more! Good heavens! Then have you got some cheese, or anything of that sort?”
”No. I don't keep cheese in the place. You see, the smell of it in these little flats--”