“I’d guessed that.” “And an acquaintance of mine.” “Yes?” “I’m afraid it’s going to rain.” “It generally does in Knightsbridge. Yes?” “Is Sir Tiglath likely to be in?” “He knows I’m coming. Well, you haven’t told me who Mr. Sagittarius is.” “Lady Enid,” said the Prophet, desperately, “I know very little of Mr. Sagittarius beyond the fact that he’s a man, which I’ve already informed you of.” “Is he an outside broker?” “No.” “Then he’s Malkiel. You can’t deny it.” “I can deny anything,” said the Prophet, who, already upset by the events of the day, was now goaded almost to desperation. “I can and--and must. There’s the horse down again!” “I shall have to give the man one and sixpence. Are your going to keep your promise to Mrs. Merillia and Sir Tiglath?” To this question the Prophet determined to give a direct answer, in order to draw Lady Enid away from the more dangerous subjects. “No,” he said, with a spasm of pain. “I knew you wouldn’t be able to.” “Why?” “Because when one’s once been really and truly silly it’s impossible not to repeat the act, absolutely impossible. You’ll never stop now. You’ll go on from one thing to another, as I do.” “I cannot think that prophecy is silly,” said the Prophet, with some stiffness. She looked at him with frank admiration. “You’re worse than I am! It’s splendid!” “Worse!” “Why, yes. You’re foolish enough to think your silly acts sensible. I wish I could get to that. Then perhaps I could impose on Sir Tiglath more easily too.” She considered this idea seriously, as they started on again, and gradually got free of the little crowd that had been sitting on the horse’s head. “I must impose upon him,” she said. “And you’ve got to help me.” “I!” cried the Prophet, feeling terribly unequal to everything. “I cannot possibly consent--” “Yes, dear Mr. Vivian, you can. And if two thoroughly silly people can’t impose upon one sensible old man, it will be very strange indeed. And now I’m going to tell you what I hadn’t time to tell you yesterday.” She leaned forward and tapped sharply on the rattling glass in front of the cab. The cabman, bending down, twisted his whiskers towards her. “Don’t go too fast.” “I can’t get ‘im to fall down agyne, lydy. ‘E’s too tired.” “I daresay. But don’t let him walk quite so fast.” She drew back. “Mr. Vivian,” she said--and the Prophet thought she had never looked more sensible than now, as she began this revelation--“Mr. Vivian, among the silly people I have met in my dear double life, who do you think are the very silliest?” “The anti-vaccinators?” “No. Besides, they so often have small-pox and become quite sensible.” “The atheists?” “I used to think so, but not now. And most of those I knew are Roman Catholics at present.” “The women who don’t desire to be slaves?” “There aren’t any.” “The tearers of Paderewski’s hair?” “I so seldom meet them, because they all live out in the suburbs.” “The tight-lacers?”