Mr. Prohack knew, then, in his limbs the meaning of the word “writhe,” and he was glad that he had not had his bath, because even if he had had his bath he would have needed another one.  His attitude towards his fellow men had a touch of embittered and cynical scorn unworthy of a philosopher.  He turned, in another paper, to the financial column, for, though all his money was safe in fixed-interest-bearing securities, the fluctuations of whose capital value could not affect his safety, yet he somehow could not remain quite indifferent to the fluctuations of their capital value; and in the financial column he saw a reference to a “young operator,” who, he was convinced, could be no other than Charlie; in the reference there was a note of sarcasm which hurt Mr. Prohack and aroused anew his apprehensions.

And among his correspondence was a letter which had been delivered by hand.  He thought he knew the handwriting on the envelope, and he did:  it was from Mr. Softly Bishop.  Mr. Softly Bishop begged, in a very familiar style, that Mr. Prohack and wife would join himself and Miss Fancy on an early day at a little luncheon party, and he announced that the ’highly desirable event to the possibility of which he had alluded’ on the previous evening, had duly occurred.  Strange, the fellow’s eagerness to publish his engagement to a person of more notoriety than distinction!  The fellow must have “popped the question” while escorting Miss Fancy home in the middle of the night, and he must have written the note before breakfast and despatched it by special messenger.  What a mentality!

Mr. Prohack desired now a whole series of baths.  And he was very harassed indeed.  If he, by a fluke, had discovered the escapade of the church-tower and the church-clock, why should not others discover it by other flukes?  Was it conceivable that such a matter should forever remain a secret?  The thing, to Mr. Prohack’s sick imagination, was like a bomb with a fuse attached and the fuse lighted.  When the bomb did go off, what trouble for an entirely innocent Mr. Prohack!  And he loathed the notion of his proud, strong daughter being affianced to a man who, however excellent intrinsically, was the myrmidon of that sublime showman, Mr. Asprey Chown.  And he hated his connection with Mr. Softly Bishop and with Miss Fancy.  Could he refuse the invitation to the little luncheon party?  He knew that he could not refuse it.  His connection with these persons was indisputable and the social consequences of it could not be fairly avoided.  As for the matter of the necklace, he held that he could deal with that,—­but could he?  He lacked confidence in himself.  Even his fixed interest-bearing securities might, by some inconceivable world-catastrophe, cease to bear interest, and then where would he be?