“Well, my dear,” she said, “go back to your friends, but don’t forget that Lady Julia and Sir Tiglath are dining here at half-past seven.” “Grannie,” cried the Prophet, with a desperate feeling that Madame meant to stay, “you ought not to dine downstairs to-night. Let me send and put them off.” “No, Hennessey,” she answered, with gentle decision. “I feel better, and I want cheering up. My morning was not altogether pleasant.” The Prophet understood that she was alluding to his questions, and felt cut to the heart. His home seemed crumbling about him, but he knew not what to do or what to say. Mrs. Merillia observed his agitation, but she did not choose to remark upon it, for she considered curiosity the most vulgar of all the vices. “Go to your friends, dear,” she said again. “But be in time for dinner.” “Yes, grannie.” The Prophet descended the stairs and met Mr. Ferdinand at the bottom. “Am I to send for the police, sir?” “No, no. I’ve explained matters.” “And about dinner, sir?” “I’ll tell you in a moment, Mr. Ferdinand,” replied the Prophet, entering the library with the fixed intention of getting Madame and Mr. Sagittarius out of the house without further delay. The tableau that met his eyes, however, was not reassuring. He found Madame, having laid aside her bonnet, and thrown the rabbit-skin cloak carelessly upon a settee, arranging her hair before a mirror, and shaking up the coffee-coloured lace fichu in a manner that suggested a permanent occupation of the house, while her husband, sunk in a deep armchair in an attitude of complete nervous prostration, was gazing dejectedly into the fire. When the Prophet entered, the latter bounded with alarm, while Madame turned round, a couple of hairpins in her mouth and both hands to the back of her head. “Ah,” she remarked, through the pins, “_il a vous_! I am happy to say that I have induced Mr. Sagittarius to assume his _toga virilibus_, and that we have, therefore, great pleasure in yielding to your thoughtful pressure--” “My what?” said the Prophet, blankly. “You thoughtful pressure, and accepting your urgent invite to dine here before proceeding to the Zoological Gardens and thence to the butler’s pantry.” The Prophet tried not to groan while she emitted a pin and secured with it a wandering plait of raven hair. “You’re sure, sir,” said Mr. Sagittarius, in a deplorable voice, “that the gentleman is convinced that I am really an American syndicate?” The Prophet rang the bell. He could not trust himself to speak, and, when he looked at Madame’s large and determined eyes, he knew that to do so would be useless. Mr. Ferdinand appeared. “Mr. Ferdinand,” said the Prophet, “this lady and gentleman will join us at dinner to-night.” “Yes, sir,” said Mr. Ferdinand, casting a glance of outraged prudery upon Mr. Sagittarius, who was attired in his usual morning costume, including spats.