“Yes, please, a hansom,” said Lady Enid Thistle, some five minutes later, as she and the Prophet stood together upon the kerb in front of the rabbit shop. “I feel much better now.” The Prophet hailed a hansom and handed her into it. “Which way are you going?” he asked. Lady Enid looked doubtful. “I ought to be going back to Jellybrand’s,” she said. “I had an appointment. But really--you see Mr. Sagittarius is there, and altogether--I don’t know.” She was obviously still upset by the “creaming foam,” and the other incidents of the afternoon. “Come to tea with grannie,” said the Prophet. “She’s at home?” “Yes. She’s twisted her ankle.” “Oh, I’m so sorry.” “Let me escort you.” “Thanks. I think I will.” “You won’t mind stopping for a moment at Hollings’s?” said the Prophet, in Piccadilly Circus. “I promised to buy some roses. Somebody is coming in to tea.” “On, no. But who is it?” “I don’t know. Only one person, I think. An old friend, no doubt. Probably the Central American Ambassador’s grandfather.” “Oh, if that’s all! I feel a little shaky still.” “Naturally.” The Prophet bought the roses and they drove on. “It’s very nice of you not to ask any questions,” observed Lady Enid, presently. The Prophet had been thinking it was, but he only said,-- “Oh, not at all.” “I’m a woman,” promised Lady Enid, “and I don’t know whether I can be so nice.” The Prophet glanced at her and met her curious grey eyes. “Try--please,” he replied very gently, thinking of the oath which he had just taken. Lady Enid was silent for two minutes, then she remarked,-- “I have tried, but I can’t succeed. Why on earth were you closeted in the parlour--at my time, too--with Mr. Sagittarius this afternoon?” “Then you really are Miss Minerva Partridge? And it was really you who had--had--well, ‘bespoke’ the parlour at half-past three?” “Certainly. Now we are neither of us nice, but we’re both of us human.” “There were some letters for you,” said the Prophet. Lady Enid wrinkled her smooth, young, healthy-looking forehead. “How stupid of me! I’ll fetch them to-morrow. Well?” She looked at the Prophet with obvious expectation. “I’m so sorry I can’t tell you,” he replied with gentle firmness. “Oh, all right,” she rejoined. “But now I’m at a disadvantage. You know I’m Miss Minerva.” “Yes. But I don’t know why you are, or why you go to Jellybrand’s, or why you rushed into the parlour, or who the old gentleman was that--” The cab stopped before Mrs. Merillia’s house. In the hall, upon an oaken bench, they perceived a very broad-brimmed top hat standing on its head. Beside it lay two pieces of a stout and knobbly walking stick which had been broken in half. Lady Enid started violently. “Good Heavens!” she cried. She picked up the walking stick, examined it, and laid it down. “I don’t think I want any tea,” she murmured. “I’m sure you do,” said the Prophet, with some pressure.