Eve was lying on the bed.  She looked very small on the bed, smaller than usual.  At the sound of the door opening she said, without moving her head—­he could not see her face from the door: 

“Is that you, Arthur?”

“Yes, what’s the matter?”

“Just put my cloak over my feet, will you?”

He came forward and took the cloak off a chair.

“What’s the matter?” he repeated, arranging the cloak.

“I’m not hurt, dearest, I assure you I’m not—­not at all.”  She was speaking in a faint, weak voice, like a little child’s.

“Then you’ve had an accident?”

She glanced up at him sideways, timidly, compassionately, and nodded.

“You mustn’t be upset.  I told Machin to go on with her work and not to say anything to you about it.  I preferred to tell you myself.  I know how sensitive you are where I’m concerned.”

Mr. Prohack had to adjust his thoughts, somewhat violently, to the new situation, and he made no reply; but he was very angry about the mere existence of motor-cars.  He felt that he had always had a prejudice against motor-cars, and that the prejudice was not a prejudice because it was well-founded.

“Darling, don’t look so stern.  It wasn’t Carthew’s fault.  Another car ran into us.  I told Carthew to drive in the Park, and we went right round the Park in about five minutes.  So as I felt sure you’d be a long time with that fat man, I had the idea of running down to Putney—­to see Sissie.”  Eve laughed nervously.  “I thought I might possibly bring her home with me....  After the accident Carthew put me into a taxi and I came back.  Of course he had to stay to look after the car.  And then you weren’t here when I arrived!  Where are you going, dearest?”

“I’m going to telephone for the doctor, of course,” said Mr. Prohack quietly, but very irritably.

“Oh, darling!  I’ve sent for the doctor.  He wasn’t in, they said, but they said he’d be back quite soon and then he’d come at once.  I don’t really need the doctor.  I only sent for him because I knew you’d be so frightfully angry if I didn’t.”

Mr. Prohack had returned to the bed.  He took his wife’s hand.

“Feel my pulse.  It’s all right, isn’t it?”

“I can’t feel it at all.”

“Oh, Arthur, you never could!  I can feel your hand trembling, that’s what I can feel.  Now please don’t be upset, Arthur.”

“I suppose the car’s smashed?”

She nodded: 

“It’s a bit broken.”

“Where was it?”

“It was just on the other side of Putney Bridge, on the tramlines there.”

“Carthew wasn’t hurt?”

“Oh, no!  Carthew was simply splendid.”

“How did it happen, exactly?”

“Oh, Arthur, you with your ‘exactlys’!  Don’t ask me.  I’m too tired.  Besides, I didn’t see it.  My eyes were shut” She closed her eyes.