I  
 
One evening, ten days later, Mr. Prohack slipped out of his own house as stealthily as a thief might have slipped into it. He was cured provisionally. The unseen, unfelt, sinister¹ duodenum no longer mysteriously deranged² his whole engine. Only a continual sensation of slight fatigue³ indicated all the time that he was not cleverer than nature and that he was not victoriously⁴ disposing of his waste products. But he could walk mildly about; his zest⁵ for smoking had in part returned; and to any uninstructed observer he bore a close resemblance to a healthy man.
 
Four matters worried him, of which three may be mentioned immediately. He could not go to the Treasury⁶. His colleague Hunter had amiably⁷ called the day after his seizure⁸, and Mrs. Prohack had got hold of Hunter. Her influence over sane⁹ and well-balanced males was really extraordinary. Mr. Prohack had remained in perfect ignorance of the machinations of these two for eight days, at the end of which period he received by post an official document informing him that My Lords of the Treasury had granted him six months' leave of absence for reasons of ill-health. Dr. Veiga had furnished the certificate unknown to the patient. The quick despatch¹⁰ of the affair showed with what celerity a government department can function when it is actuated from the inside. The leave of absence for reasons of ill-health of course prevented Mr. Prohack from appearing at his office. How could he with decency¹¹ appear at his office seemingly vigorous when it had been officially decided¹² that he was too ill to work? And Mr. Prohack desired greatly to visit the Treasury. The habit of a life-time had been broken in a moment, and since Mr. Prohack was the creature of that habit he suffered accordingly. He had been suffering for two days. This was the first matter that worried Mr. Prohack.
 
The second matter had to do with his clubs. He was cut off from his clubs. Partly for the same reason as that which cut him off from the Treasury—for both his clubs were full of Civil Servants—and partly because he was still somehow sensitive concerning the fact of his inheritance. He would have had a similar objection to entering his clubs in Highland¹³ kilt. The explanation was obvious. He hated to be conspicuous¹⁴. His inheritance was already (through Mr. Softly Bishop¹⁵) the talk of certain official and club circles, and Mr. Prohack apprehended¹⁶ that every eye would be curiously¹⁷ upon him if he should set foot in a club. He could not bear that, and he could not bear the questions and the pleasantries. One day he would have to bear them—but not yet.
 
The third matter that worried him was that he could not, even in secret, consult his own doctor. How could he go to old Plott and say: "Plott, old man, I've been ill and my wife insisted upon having another doctor, but I've come to ask you to tell me whether or not the other doctor's right?" The thing was impossible. Yet he badly wanted to verify Veiga by Plott. He still mistrusted Veiga, though his mistrust lessened¹⁸ daily, despite his wish to see it increase.
 
Mrs. Prohack had benevolently¹⁹ suggested that he should run down to his club, but on no account for a meal—merely "for a change." He had declined, without giving the reason, and she had admitted that perhaps he was right.
 
He attributed all the worries to his wife.
 
"I pay a fine price for that woman," he thought as he left the house, "a rare fine price!" But as for her price, he never haggled²¹ over it. She, just as she existed in her awful imperfection, was his first necessary of life. She had gone out after dinner to see an acquaintance about a house-maid (for already she was reorganising the household on a more specious²² scale); she was a mile off at least; but she would have disapproved²³ of him breaking loose into his clubs at night, and so the Terror of the departments stole forth²⁴, instead of walking forth, intimidated²⁵ by that moral influence which she left behind her. Undoubtedly²⁶ since the revolt of the duodenum her grip of him had sensibly tightened²⁷.
 
Not that Mr. Prohack was really going to a club. He had deceitfully told himself that he might stroll down to his principal club, for the sake of exercise (his close friends among the members were lunchers not diners), but the central self within himself was aware that no club would see him that evening.
 
A taxi approached in the darkness; he knew by its pace that it was empty. He told the driver to drive to Putney. In the old days of eleven days ago he would not have dared to tell a taxi-driver to drive to Putney, for the fare would have unbalanced his dizzy private weekly budget; and even now he felt he was going the deuce of a pace. Even now he would prudently²⁹ not have taken a taxi had not part of the American hundred thousand pounds already materialised. Mr. Softly Bishop had been to see him on the previous day, and in addition to being mysteriously sympathetic about his co-heir's ill-health had produced seven thousand pounds of the hundred thousand. A New York representative had cabled fourteen thousand, not because Mr. Prohack was in a hurry for seven, but because Mr. Softly Bishop was in a hurry for seven. And Mr. Softly Bishop had pointed³⁰ out something which Mr. Prohack, Treasury official, had not thought of. He had pointed out that Mr. Prohack might begin immediately to spend just as freely as if the hundred thousand were actually in hand.
 
"You see," said he, "the interest has been accumulating over there ever since Angmering's death, and it will continue to accumulate until we get all the capital; and the interest runs up to about a couple of hundred a week for each of us."
 
Now Mr. Prohack had directed the taxi to his daughter's dance studio, and perhaps it was the intention to do so that had made him steal ignobly³¹ out of the house. For Eve would assuredly have rebelled. A state of war existed between Eve and her daughter, and Mr. Prohack's intelligence, as well as his heart, had ranged him on Eve's side. Since Sissie's departure, the girl had given no sign whatever to her parents. Mrs. Prohack had expected to see her on the next day after her defection. But there was no Sissie, and there was no message from Sissie. Mrs. Prohack bulged³³ with astounding³⁴ news for Sissie, of her father's illness and inheritance. But Mrs. Prohack's resentful pride would not make the first move, and would not allow Mr. Prohack to make it. They knew, at second-hand³⁵ through a friend of Viola Ridle's, that Sissie was regularly active at the studio; also Sissie had had the effrontery³⁶ to send a messenger for some of her clothes—without even a note! The situation was incredible, and waxed daily in incredibility. Sissie's behaviour could not possibly be excused.
 
This was the fourth and the chief matter that worried Mr. Prohack. He regarded it sardonically³⁷ as rather a lark³⁸; but he was worried to think of the girl making a fool of herself with her mother. Her mother was demonstrably in the right. To yield to the chit's appalling³⁹ heartlessness would be bad tactics and it would be humiliating. Nevertheless Mr. Prohack had directed the taxi-driver to the dance-studio at Putney. On the way it suddenly occurred to him, almost with a shock, that he was a rich man, secure from material anxieties, and that therefore he ought to feel light-hearted. He had been losing sight of this very important fact for quite some time.
 
 
 
II
 
 
The woman in the cubicle⁴¹ near the door was putting a fresh disc on to a gramophone and winding⁴² up the instrument. She was a fat, youngish woman, in a parlourmaid's cap and apron⁴³, and Mr. Prohack had a few days earlier had a glimpse of her seated in his own hall waiting for a package of Sissie's clothes.
 
"Very sorry, sir," said she, turning her head negligently⁴⁴ from the gramophone and eyeing him seriously. "I'm afraid you can't go in if you're not in evening dress." Evidently from her firm, polite voice, she knew just what she was about, did that young woman. She added: "The rule's very strict on Fridays."
 
At the same moment a bell rang once. The woman immediately released the catch of the gramophone and lowered the needle on to the disc, and Mr. Prohack heard music, but not from the cubicle. There was a round hole in the match-board partition, and the trumpet⁴⁵ attachment⁴⁶ of the gramophone disappeared beyond the hole.
 
"This affair is organised," thought Mr. Prohack, decidedly impressed by the ingenuity⁴⁷ of the musical arrangement and by the promptness of the orchestral director in obeying the signal of the bell.
 
"My name is Prohack," said he. "I'm Miss Prohack's father."
 
This important announcement ought to have startled the sangfroid⁴⁸ of the guardian⁴⁹, but it did not. She merely said, with a slight mechanical smile:
 
"As soon as this dance is over, sir, I'll let Miss Prohack know she's wanted." She did not say: "Sir, a person of your eminence⁵⁰ is above rules. Go right in."
 
Two girls in all-enveloping dark cloaks entered behind him. "Good-evening, Lizzie," one of them greeted the guardian. And Lizzie's face relaxed into a bright genuine smile.
 
"Good-evening, miss. Good-evening, miss."
 
The two girls vanished rustlingly through a door over which was hung a piece of cardboard with the written words: "Ladies' cloakroom." In a few moments they emerged, white and fluffy⁵¹ apparitions⁵², eager, self-conscious, and they vanished through another door. Mr. Prohack judged from their bridling⁵³ and from their whispers to each other that they belonged to the class which ministers to the shopping-class. He admitted that they looked very nice and attractive; but he had the sensation of having blundered into a queer, hitherto unknown world, and of astonishment⁵⁴ and qualms⁵⁵ that his daughter should be a ruler in that world.
 
Lizzie stood up and peeped through a little square window in the match-boarding. As soon as she had finished peeping Mr. Prohack took liberty to peep also, and the dance-studio was revealed to him. Somehow he could scarcely believe that it was not a hallucination, and that he was really in Putney, and that his own sober house in which Sissie had been reared still existed not many miles off.
 
For Mr. Prohack, not continuously but at intervals⁵⁶, possessed⁵⁷ a disturbing faculty⁵⁸ that compelled him to see the phenomena⁵⁹ of human life as they actually were, and to disregard entirely⁶⁰ the mere²⁰ names of things,—which mere names by the magic power of mere names usually suffice to satisfy the curiosity of most people and to allay⁶¹ their misgivings⁶² if any. Mr. Prohack now saw (when he looked downwards) a revolving⁶³ disc which was grating against a stationary⁶⁴ needle and thereby⁶⁵ producing unpleasant rasping sounds. But it was also producing a quite different order of sounds. He did not in the least understand, and he did not suppose that anybody in the dance-studio understood, the delicate secret mechanism⁶⁶ by which these other sounds were produced. All he knew was that by means of the trumpet attachment they were transmitted through the wooden partition and let loose into the larger air of the studio, where the waves of them had a singular effect on the brains of certain bright young women and sombre young and middle-aged⁶⁷ men who were arranged in clasped couples: with the result that the brains of the women and men sent orders to their legs, arms, eyes, and they shifted to and fro in rhythmical⁶⁸ movements. Each woman placed herself very close—breast against breast—to each man, yielding her volition⁶⁹ absolutely to his, and (if the man was the taller) often gazing up into his face with an ecstatic expression of pleasure and acquiescence⁷⁰. The physical relations between the units of each couple would have caused censorious comment had the couple been alone or standing⁷¹ still; but the movement and the association of couples seemed mysteriously to lift the whole operation above criticism and to endow it with a perfect propriety⁷². The motion of the couples, and their manner of moving, over the earth's surface were extremely monotonous⁷³; some couples indeed only walked stiffly to and fro; on the other hand a few exhibited variety, lightness and grace, in manoeuvres which involved a high degree of mutual⁷⁴ trust and comprehension. While only some of the faces were ecstatic, all were rapt. The ordinary world was shut out of this room, whose inhabitants had apparently⁷⁵ abandoned themselves with all their souls to the performance of a complicated and solemn rite⁷⁶.
 
Odd as the spectacle was, Mr. Prohack enjoyed it. He enjoyed the youth and the prettiness and the litheness⁷⁷ of the brightly-dressed girls and the stern masculinity of the men, and he enjoyed the thought that both girls and men had had the wit to escape from the ordinary world into this fantastic environment created out of four walls, a few Chinese lanterns, some rouge⁷⁸, some stuffs, some spangles, friction⁷⁹ between two pieces of metal, and the profoundest instinct of nature. Beyond everything he enjoyed the sight of the lithest and most elegant of the girls, whom he knew to be Eliza Brating and who was dancing with a partner whose skill obviously needed no lessons. He would have liked to see his daughter Sissie in Eliza's place, but Sissie was playing the man's rôle to a stout⁸⁰ and nearly middle-aged lady, whose chief talent for the rite appeared to be an iron determination.
 
Mr. Prohack was in danger of being hypnotised by the spectacle, but suddenly the conflict between the disc and the needle grew more acute, and Lizzie, the guardian, dragged the needle sharply from the bosom⁸² of its antagonist⁸³. The sounds ceased, and the brains of the couples in the studio, no longer inspired by the sounds, ceased to inspire the muscles of the couples, and the rite suddenly finished. Mr. Prohack drew breath.
 
"To think," he reflected, "that this sort of thing is seriously going on all over London at this very instant, and that many earnest persons are making a livelihood⁸⁴ from it, and that nobody but me perceives how marvellous, charming, incomprehensible and disconcerting it is!"
 
He said to the guardian:
 
"There doesn't seem to be much 'lesson' about this business. Everybody here seems to be able to dance all right."
 
To which Lizzie replied with a sagacious, even ironic⁸⁵, smile:
 
"You see, sir, on these gala nights they all do their very best."
 
"Father!"
 
Sissie had arrived upon him. Clearly she was pr............