“I trust—­I sincerely trust that we shall have a clement spring this year.”

Lady Julia, at whom he had looked while uttering this original desire, was about to reply when Madame uttered a stentorian click and interposed.

“In the spring the young man’s fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love,” she remarked, with the fictitious ease of profound ill-breeding.

No one dared to dispute the portentous statement, and she resumed majestically,—­

“The Mouse is delicious in spring.”

There was another dead silence, and Madame, turning with patronising and heavy affability towards Lady Julia, added,—­

“Your ladyship doubtless loves the Mouse—­Mus Pulcherrimo—­in spring as I do?”

The Prophet felt as if he were being pricked by thousands of red-hot needles, and the perspiration burst out in beads upon his forehead.

“I am not specially fond of mice in spring, or indeed at any season,” replied Lady Julia, with her slight, but very distinct and bell-like, cough.

“I said the Mouse, your ladyship,” returned Madame, feeding upon this titled acquaintance with her bulging black eyes, and pushing the kid boots well out from under her brown skirt.  “I observed that the Mouse was peculiarly delicious in the season of love.”

“No mouse attracts me,” said Lady Julia, coughing again and raising her fine eyebrows slightly.  “I should much prefer to pass the spring without the companionship of any mouse whatever.”

Both Madame and Mr. Sagittarius opened their lips to reply, but before they could eject a single word the door was opened by Mr. Ferdinand, who announced,—­

“Sir Tiglath Butt.”

Mr. Sagittarius started violently and upset a vase of roses, the astronomer rolled into the room with a very red face, and Mr. Ferdinand added,—­

“Dinner is served.”

Mrs. Merillia shook hands with Sir Tiglath and glanced despairingly around her.  It was sufficiently obvious that she was considering how to arrange the procession to the dining-room.

“Hennessey,” she began, “will you take Lady Julia?  Sir Tiglath, will you”—­she paused, but there was no help for it, she was obliged to continue—­“take Mrs. Sagittarius?  Let me introduce you, Sir Tiglath Butt—­Mrs. Sagittarius.  Mr. Sagittarius, will you take—­”

“Mr. Sagittarius!” roared Sir Tiglath.  “Where is he?”

That gentleman gathered Mr. Ferdinand’s trousers up in both hands and prepared for instantaneous flight.

“Where is he?” bellowed Sir Tiglath, wheeling round with amazing rapidity for so fat a man.  “Ha!”

He had viewed Mr. Sagittarius, who, grasping Mr. Ferdinand’s suit in pleats, ducked his head like one wishing to be beforehand with violence and set the spats towards the door.  Sir Tiglath advanced upon him.

“The old astronomer has heard the name of Sagittarius,” he vociferated.  “He has been informed that—­”