And as soon as the manager had left him he gazed around the room at the too-blonde women young and old and wondered fearfully which would be his portion for bridge or dance.  In the lounge after dinner he ignited a cigar and watched the lighting up of the ball-room (ordinarily the drawing-room) and the entry of the musicians therein.  Then he observed the manager chatting with two haughty beldames and an aged gentleman, and they all three cast assaying glances upon Mr. Prohack, and Mr. Prohack knew that he had been destined for bridge, not dancing, and the manager moved towards him, and Mr. Prohack breathed his last sigh but one....

But the revolving doors at the entrance revolved, and out of the Frintonian night appeared Lady Massulam, magnificently enveloped.  Seldom had Mr. Prohack’s breast received a deeper draught of mingled astonishment and solace.  Hitherto he had not greatly cared for Lady Massulam, and could not see what Charlie saw in her.  Now he saw what Charlie saw and perhaps more also.  She had more than dignity,—­she had style.  And she femininely challenged.  She was like a breeze oil the French shore to a British barque cruising dully in the Channel.  She welcomed the sight of Mr. Prohack, and her greeting of him made a considerable change in the managerial attitude towards the unassuming Terror of the departments.  The manager respectfully informed Lady Massulam that Lord Partick was indisposed, and respectfully took himself off.  Lady Massulam and Mr. Prohack then proceeded to treat each other like new toys.  Mr. Prohack had to explain why he was at Frinton, and Lady Massulam explained that whenever she was in Frinton at the week-end she always came to the Majestic to play bridge with old Lord Partick.  It flattered him; she liked him, though he had bought his peerage; he was a fine player—­so was she; and lastly they had had business relations, and financially Lord Partick watched over her as over a young girl.

Mr. Prohack was relieved thus to learn that Lady Massulam had not strolled into the Majestic Hotel, Frinton, to play bridge with nobody in particular.  Still, she was evidently well known to the habitues, several of whom approached to greet her.  She temporised with them in her calm Latin manner, neither encouraging nor discouraging their advances, and turning back to Mr. Prohack by her side at every surcease.

“We shall be compelled to play bridge if we do not take care,” she murmured in his ear, as a dowager larger than herself loomed up.

“Yes,” murmured Mr. Prohack, “I’ve been feeling the danger ever since dinner.  Will you dance with me,—­not of course as a pleasure—­I won’t flatter myself—­but as a means of salvation?”

The dowager bore down with a most definite suggestion for bridge in the card-room.  Lady Massulam definitely stated that she was engaged to dance....