“Ah, yes. On my seventeenth birthday, and was left a widow in exactly two years’ time. Your poor dear granf--” “Thank you, grannie, thank you! Seven!” “Seven what, Hennessey? One would th--” “And now, dear grannie, tell me one thing, only one little thing more. About--that is, talking of rashes--” “Rashers!” “No, grannie, rashes--illnesses, you know, that take an epidemic form.” “Well, what about them? Surely there isn’t an epidemic in the square?” “How many have you had, grannie?” “Where? Had what?” “Here, anywhere in the square, grannie.” “Had what in the square?” “Rashes.” “I! Have a rash in the square!” “Exactly. Have you ever--an epidemic, you know?” “I have an epidemic in Berkeley Square? You must be crazy, Hennessey!” “Probably, very likely, grannie. But have you? Tell me quickly! Have you?” “Certainly not! As if any gentlewoman--” “Answered, grannie, answered! Eight!” “Eight what?” “Questions. Thank you, dearest grannie. I knew you’d tell me, I knew you would!” And the Prophet rushed from the room, leaving Mrs. Merillia in a condition that cannot be described and that not all the subsequent ministrations of Mrs. Fancy Quinglet were able to alleviate. Having reached the hall, the Prophet hastily put on his coat and hat and called Mr. Ferdinand to him. “Mr. Ferdinand,” he said, assuming a fixed and stony dignity to conceal his agitation and dismay, “I am leaving the house at once with the--the lady and gentleman who are in the library.” At this description of the kids Mr. Ferdinand was very nearly seized with convulsions. However, as he said nothing and merely wrung his large hands, the Prophet, after a slight pause, continued,-- “I may be away some time, so if Mrs. Merillia should make any inquiry, you will say that I have left to pay a visit to some friends.” “Yes, sir. Shall I tell Gustavus to pack your things?” “Certainly not.” The Prophet was turning towards the library when Mr. Ferdinand added,-- “When shall we expect you back, sir? Am I to forward your letters?” “No, no. I shall return in a few hours.” “Oh, I beg pardon, sir. And if any telegrams--” “There will not be any. I am now going to answer the telegrams in person.” “Yes, sir.” “Come along, my children,” cried the Prophet, putting his head into the library. “Not your children, if you please, Mr. Vivian,” replied the little boy. “Corona, come on.” “How do we go, my dears?” asked the Prophet, with an attempt at gaiety, and endeavouring to ignore the prostrated demeanour of Mr. Ferdinand, who was in waiting to open the hall door. “By the purple ‘bus as far as the Pork Butcher’s Rest,” piped the little boy--(at this point Mr. Ferdinand could not refrain from a slight exclamation)--“then we take the train to the Mouse, Mouse, Mouse.” “Mus, Mus, Mus,” chanted the little girl.