The Prophet, thus encouraged, stepped forward towards an aperture that on ordinary days contained a door, but that now contained a stout elderly lady, with henna-dyed hair, a powdered face, black eyebrows and a yellow gown, on which rested a large number of jewelled ornaments that looked like small bombs. At this lady’s elbow stood a footman with an exceedingly powerful bass voice, who shouted the names of approaching guests in a manner so uncompromising as to be terrific. Each time he so shouted the stout lady first started and then smiled, the two operations succeeding one another with almost inconceivable rapidity and violence. “What name, sir?” asked the footman of the Prophet, bending his powdered head till it was only about six feet two inches from the floor. “Mr. Hennessey Vivian,” replied the Prophet, hesitating as to what he should add. “Mr. Hemmerspeed Vivian!” roared the footman. “What name, Madame?” (to Madame Sagittarius). “Mr. and Madame Sagittarius of Sagittarius Lodge, the Mouse!” replied the lady majestically. “Mr.--and Madame--Segerteribus--of--Segerteribus--Lodge, the Mouse!” bawled the footman. The stout lady, who was Mrs. Vane Bridgeman, started and smiled. “Delighted to see you, Mr. Segerteribus!” she said to the Prophet. The Prophet hastened to explain through the uproar of twenty guitars. “Mr. Vivian is my name. I think Miss Minerva Partridge--” Mrs. Bridgeman started and smiled. “Of course,” she exclaimed. “Of course. You are to be kind enough to introduce me some day to Mr. Sagi--Sagi--something or other, and I am to introduce him to Sir Tiglath Butt, when Sir Tiglath Butt has been introduced to me by dear Miss Partridge. It is all to work out beautifully. Yes, yes! Charming! charming!” “I have ventured to bring Mr. and Madame Sagittarius with me to-night,” said the Prophet. Mrs. Bridgeman started and smiled. “They are my old and valued friends, and--and here they are.” “Delighted! delighted!” said Mrs. Bridgeman, speaking in a confused manner through the guitars. “How d’you do, Mr. Sagittarius?” And she shook hands warmly with a very small and saturnine clergyman decorated with a shock of ebon hair, who was passing at the moment. “Biggle!” said the little clergyman. Mrs. Bridgeman started and smiled. “Biggle!” repeated the little clergyman. “Biggle!” The guitars rose up with violence, and all the hot, drubbing passion of Bayswater being Spanish. “Yes, indeed, I so agree with you, dear Mr. Sagittarius,” said Mrs. Bridgeman to the little clergyman. “Biggle!” the little clergyman cried in a portentous voice. “Biggle! Biggle!” “What does he mean?” whispered Mrs. Bridgeman to the Prophet. “How does one?” “I think that is his name. These are Mr. and Madame Sagittarius.” Mrs. Bridgeman started and smiled.