“Sir, are you a man of science or have you the brain of a charlatan enclosed in the fleshy envelope of a conjurer and a sinner? Do you study the noble and beautiful stars for their own sakes to find out what they are, and what they are doing, what is their nature and what their place in the great scheme, or do you peek and pry at them through the keyhole of a contemptible curiosity in order to discover what you think they can do for you, to set you on high, to puff you out into a personage and cause you to be noticed of the foolish ones of this world? Which are you, sir, a young man of parts whose hand I can grasp fraternally, or an insulter of planets, sir, a Peeping Tom upon the glorious nudity of Venus, a Paul Pry squinting at the mysteries of Mercury for an unholy and, what is more, an idiotic purpose? What do you ask of the stars, sir? Tell the old astronomer that!” The Prophet was considerably taken aback by this tirade, which caused the many ornaments in the pretty room to tremble. He gazed at his grandmother, and found her nodding approval of Sir Tiglath. He glanced at Lady Enid. She was leaning back in her chair and looking amused, like a person at an entertainment. “What do I ask, Sir Tiglath?” he murmured in some confusion. “Do you ask about your reverent granddam’s hallowed ankles, sir? Do you afflict the stars with inquiries about the state of the ridiculous weather? Is that it?” The Prophet understood that Mrs. Merillia had been frank with the astronomer. He cast upon her a glance of respectful reproach. “Yes, Hennessey,” she answered, “I have. My dear child, I thought it for the best. This prophetic business would soon have been turning the house upside down, and at my age I’m really not equal to living at close quarters with a determined young prophet. To do so would upset the habits of a lifetime. So Sir Tiglath knows all about it.” There was a moment of silence, which was broken by the agreeable voice of Lady Enid saying,-- “All about what? Remember, please, that I’m a young woman and that all young women share one quality. All about what, please?” Mrs. Merillia looked at the Prophet. The Prophet looked at Sir Tiglath, who wagged his great head and cried, with rolling pathos and rebuke,-- “Oh-h-h-h!” “Please--Mr. Vivian!” repeated Lady Enid, with considerable determination. “Grannie means that I--that--well, that I have been enabled by the stars to foretell certain future events,” said the Prophet, glancing rather furtively at Sir Tiglath while he spoke, to note the effect of the desperate declaration. “Oh-h-h-h!” bellowed the distressed astronomer, shaking like a jelly in his wrath. “What?” cried Lady Enid, in an almost piercing voice, and with a manner that had suddenly become most animated. “What--like Malkiel’s _Almanac_ does?”