after him. Eve had told her husband and child that she should go to bed
early. He meant to have a frolicsome, teasing chat with her, for the
doctor had laid it down that light conversation would assist the cure of
traumatic neurasthenia. She would not be asleep, and even if she were
asleep she would be glad to awaken, because she admired his style of
gossip when both of them were in the vein for it. He would describe for
her the evening at the studio humorously, in such a fashion as to
confirm her in her righteous belief that the misguided Sissie had seen
the maternal wisdom and quitted dance-studios for ever.

The lamps were out in the bedroom. She slept. He switched on a light,
but her bed was empty; it had not been occupied!

"Marian!" he called in a low voice, thinking that she might be in the
boudoir.

And if she was in the boudoir she must be reclining in the dark there.
He ascertained that she was not in the boudoir. Then he visited both
the drawing-room and the dining-room. No Marian anywhere! He stood a
moment in the hall and was in a mind to ring for Machin--he could see
from a vague illumination at the entrance to the basement steps that the
kitchen was still inhabited--but just then all the servants came upwards
on the way to the attics, and at the strange spectacle of their dancing
master in the hall they all grew constrained and either coughed or
hurried as though they ought not to be caught in the act of retiring to
bed.

Mr. Prohack, as it were, threw a lasso over Machin, who was the last of
the procession.