“But he’s carrying on just like an adventurer!  I’ve read in reports of trials about people carrying on just like that.  A fortnight ago he hadn’t got fifty pounds cash in the world, and now he’s living like a millionaire at the Grand Babylon Hotel!  Arthur, what are you going to do about it?  Couldn’t you go and see him; to-night?”

“Now listen to me,” Mr. Prohack began in a new tone, taking her hands.  “Supposing I did go and see him to-night, what could I say to him?”

“Well, you’re his father.”

“And you’re his mother.  What did you say to him?”

“Oh!  I didn’t say anything.  I only said I should have been very glad if he could have arranged to sleep at home as usual, and he said he was sorry he couldn’t because he was so busy.”

“You didn’t tell him he was carrying on like an adventurer?”

“Arthur!  How could I?”

“But you’d like me to tell him something of the sort.  All that I can say, you could say—­and that is, enquire in a friendly way what he has done, is doing, and hopes to do.”

“But—­”

“Yes, my innocent creature.  You may well pause.”  He caressed her, and she tried to continue in unhappiness, but could not.  “You pause because there is nothing to say.”

“You’re his father at any rate,” she burst out triumphantly.

“That’s not his fault.  You ought to have thought of all this over twenty years ago, before Charlie was born, before we were married, before you met me.  To become a parent is to accept terrible risks.  I’m Charlie’s father.  What then?  Am I to give him orders as to what he must do and what he mustn’t?  This isn’t China and it isn’t the eighteenth century.  He owes nothing whatever to me, or to you.  If we were starving and he had plenty, he would probably consider it his duty to look after us; but that’s the limit of what he owes us.  Whereas nothing can put an end to our responsibility towards him.  You see, we brought him here.  We thought it would be so nice to have children, and so Charlie arrived.  He didn’t choose his time, and he didn’t choose his character, nor his education, nor his chance.  If he had his choice you may depend he’d have chosen differently.  Do you want me, on the top of all that, to tell him that he must obediently accept something else from us—­our code of conduct?  It would be mere cheek, and with all my shortcomings I’m incapable of impudence, especially to the young.  He was our slave for nearly twenty years.  We did what we liked with him; and if Charlie fails now it simply means that we’ve failed.  Besides, how can you be sure that he’s carrying on like an adventurer?  He may be carrying on like a financial genius.  Perhaps we have brought a giant to earth.  We can’t believe it of course, because we haven’t got enough faith in ourselves, but later on we may be compelled to believe it.  Naturally if Charlie crashes after a showy flight, then he won’t be a financial genius,—­he’ll