Ollerenshaw had been severely wounded. His dignity bled freely; he made,
strange to say, scarcely any attempt to staunch the blood, which might
have continued to flow for a considerable time had not a diversion
occurred. (It is well known that the dignity will only bleed while you
watch it. Avert your eyes, and it instantly dries up.) The diversion,
apparently of a trifling character, had, in truth, an enormous
importance, though the parties concerned did not perceive this till
later. It consisted in the passing of Mrs. Prockter and her stepson,
Emanuel Prockter, up Duck Bank as James and Helen were passing down Duck
Bank.

Mrs. Prockter (who by reason of the rare "k" in her name regarded
herself as the sole genuine in a district full of Proctors) may be
described as the dowager of Bursley, the custodian of its
respectability, and the summit of its social ladder. You could not climb
higher than Mrs. Prockter. She lived at Hillport, and even in that
haughty suburb there was none who dared palter with an invitation from
Mrs. Prockter. She was stout and deliberate. She had waving flowers in
her bonnet and pictures of flowers on her silken gown, and a grey
mantle. Much of her figure preceded her as she walked. Her stepson had a
tenor voice and a good tailor; his age was thirty.

Now, Mrs. Prockter was simply nothing to James Ollerenshaw. They knew
each other by sight, but their orbits did not touch. James would have
gone by Mrs. Prockter as indifferently as he would have gone by a
policeman or a lamp-post. As for Emanuel, James held him in mild,
benignant contempt. But when, as the two pairs approached one another,
James perceived Emanuel furtively shifting his gold-headed cane from his
right hand to his left, and then actually raise his hat to Helen, James
swiftly lost his indifference. He also nearly lost his presence of mind.