Madame Malkiel, or rather Madame Sagittarius, as she must for the present be called, was a smallish woman of some forty winters. Her hair, which was drawn away intellectually from an ample and decidedly convex brow, was as black as a patent leather boot, and had a gloss upon it as of carefully-adjusted varnish. Her eyes were very large, very dark and very prominent. Her features were obstreperous and rippling, running from right to left, and her teeth, which were shaded by a tiny black moustache, gleamed in a manner that could scarcely be called natural. She was attired in a black velvet gown trimmed with a very large quantity of beadwork, a bonnet adorned with purple cherries, green tulips and orange-coloured ostrich tips, a pelisse, to which bugles had been applied with no uncertain hand, and an opal necklace. Her gloves were of white, her boots of black kid, the latter being furnished with elastic sides, and over her left wrist she carried a plush reticule, whose mouth was kept shut by a tightly-drawn scarlet riband. On the left side of her pelisse reposed a round bouquet of violets about the size of a Rugby football. “I thought you might like to have some tea,” began the Prophet, in his most soothing manner, while Mr. Ferdinand, with pursed lips, softly arranged that beverage upon the seat which Mr. Sagittarius--so we must call him--had just vacated. “Thank you,” said Madame Sagittarius, with dignity. “It would be acceptable. The long journey from the banks of the Mouse to these central districts is not without its fatigue. A beautiful equipage!” “You said--” “You have a very fine equipage.” “You have seen the brougham?” said the Prophet, in some surprise. “What broom?” buzzed Madame Sagittarius. “I thought you were admiring--” “The tea equipage.” “Oh, yes, to be sure. Queen Anne silver, yes.” “A great woman!” said Madame Sagittarius, spreading a silk handkerchief that exactly matched the ostrich tips in her bonnet carefully over her velvet lap. “All who have read Mrs. Markham’s work of genius with understanding must hold her name in reverence. A noble creature! A pity she died!” “A great pity indeed!” “Still we must remember that _Mors omnis communibus_. We must not forget that.” “No, no.” “And after all it is the will of Providence. _Mors Deo_.” “Quite so.” During this classical and historical retrospect Mr. Ferdinand had finished his task and quitted the apartment. As soon as he had gone Madame Sagittarius continued,-- “As the mother of Corona and Capricornus I feel it my duty to ask you, sir--that is, Mr.--” “Vivian.” “Mr. Vivian, whether the illness in your house is really only ankles as the gentleman who opened the door assured me?” “It is only that.” “Not catching?” “Oh, dear, no.” “There, Sophronia!” said Mr. Sagittarius. “I told you it was merely the prophecy.” He suddenly assumed a formidable manner, and continued,-- “And now, sir, that we are alone--” But Madame interrupted him.