Eve was relating to the admired and trusted doctor all her peculiar mental and moral symptoms.  She was saying that she could no longer manage the house, could not concentrate her mind on anything, could not refrain from strange caprices, could not remain calm, could not keep her temper, and was the worst conceivable wife for such a paragon as Arthur Prohack.  Her daughter alone had saved the household organism from a catastrophe; her daughter Sissie—­

“Come here, Sissie!”

Sissie obeyed the call and was suddenly embraced by her mother with deep tenderness.  This in front of the doctor!  Still more curious was the fact that Sissie, of late her mother’s frigid critic, came forward and responded to the embrace almost effusively.  The spectacle was really touching.  It touched Mr. Prohack, who yet felt as if the floor had yielded under his feet and he was falling into the Tube railway underground.  Indeed Mr. Prohack had never had such sensations as drew and quartered him then.

“Well,” said Dr. Veiga to Mrs. Prohack in his philosophical-realistic manner, “I’ve been marking time for a week.  I shall now proceed to put you right.  You can’t sleep.  You will sleep to-night—­I shall send you something.  I suppose it isn’t your fault that you’ve been taking the digestive tonic I sent you last thing at night under the impression that it was a sedative, in spite of the label.  But it is regrettable.  As for your headaches, I will provide a pleasing potion.  As for this sad lack of application, don’t attempt application.  As for your strange caprices, indulge them.  One thing is essential.  You must go away to the sea.  You must go to Frinton-on-Sea.  It is an easy journey.  There is a Pullman car on the morning train, and the air is unrivalled for your—­shall I say?—­idiosyncrasy.”

“Yes, darling mother,” said Sissie.  “You must go away, and father and I will take you.”

“Of course!” confirmed Mr. Prohack, with an imitation of pettishness, as though he had been steadily advocating a change of scene for days past; but he had done nothing of the kind.

“Oh!” Eve cried piteously, “that’s the one thing I can’t do!”

Dr. Veiga laughed.  “Afraid of the expense, I suppose?”

“No,” Eve answered with seriousness.  “My husband has just made a very fortunate investment, which means a profit of at least a hundred thousand pounds—­like that!” She snapped her fingers and laughed lightly.

Here was another point to puzzle an expert in human nature.  Instead of being extremely incredulous and apprehensive about the vast speculation with Sir Paul, Eve had in truth accepted it for a gold-mine.  She did not assume satisfaction; she really was satisfied.  Her satisfaction was absurd, and nothing that Mr. Prohack could say would diminish it.  She had already begun to spend the financial results of the speculation with enormous verve.  For instance, she had hired another Eagle to take the place of the wounded Eagle, without uttering a word to her husband of what she had done.  Mr. Prohack could see the dregs of his bank-balance; and in a dream he had had glimpses of a sinister edifice at the bottom of a steep slope, the building being the Bankruptcy Court.