But still the astronomer grew steadily more gigantic in person and more like the god of wine in hue. The three voices failed, and the terrible, united laughter was just upon the point of breaking forth again when a diversion occurred. The door of the drawing-room was softly opened, and Mrs. Fancy Quinglet appeared upon the threshold, holding in her hands an ice-wool shawl for the comfort of her mistress. It chanced that as the phenomenon of the astronomer was based upon a large elbow chair exactly facing the door she was instantly and fully confronted by it. She did not drop the shawl, as any ordinary maid would most probably have done. Mrs. Fancy was not of that kidney. She did not even turn tail, or give a month’s warning or a scream. She was of those women who, when they meet the inevitable, instinctively seem to recognise that it demands courage as a manner and truth as a greeting. She, therefore, stared straight at Sir Tiglath--much as she stared at Mrs. Merillia when she was about to arrange that lady’s wig for an assembly--and remarked in a decisive, though very respectful, tone of voice,-- “The gentleman’s about to burst, ma’am. I can’t speak different nor mean other.” Upon finding their thoughts thus deftly gathered up and woven into a moderately grammatical sentence, Mrs. Merillia, Lady Enid and the Prophet experienced a sense of extraordinary relief, and no longer felt the stern necessity of laughing. But this was not the miracle worked by Mrs. Fancy. Had she, even then, rested satisfied with her acumen, maintained silence and awaited the immediate fulfilment of her prediction, what must have happened can hardly be in doubt. But she was seized by that excess of bravery which is called foolhardiness, and driven by it to that peculiar and thoughtless vehemence of action which sometimes wins V.C.’s for men who, in later days, conceal amazement under the cherished decoration. She suddenly laid down the ice-wool shawl upon a neighbouring sociable, walked up to the phenomenon of the astronomer, and remarked to it with great distinctness,-- “You’re about to burst, sir. I know it, sir, and I can’t know other.” At this point the miracle happened, for, instead of responding to the lady’s-maid’s appeal, and promptly disintegrating into his respective atoms, Sir Tiglath suddenly became comparatively small and comparatively pale, sat forward, wagged his head at Mrs. Fancy, and rumbled out in his ordinary voice,-- “Have you never heard where liars go to, woman? Oh-h-h-h!” On finding that nothing of supreme horror was about to happen, Mrs. Fancy’s courage--as is the way of woman’s courage--forsook her, she broke into tears, and had to be immediately led forth to the servant’s hall by the Prophet, exclaiming persistently with every step they took,-- “I can’t help it, Master Hennessey. I say again as I said afore--the gentleman’s about to burst. Them that knows other let them declare it.”