The carriage door was opened and, with some struggling, the Prophet and his two valued friends emerged and speedily found themselves in a very large hall, which was nearly full of very large powdered footmen.  In the distance there was the sound of united frivolities, a band of twenty guitars thrumming a wilful seguidilla.  Roses bloomed on every side, and beyond the hall they beheld a vision of illuminated vistas, down which vague figures came and went.

Evidently when Mrs. Bridgeman let herself go she let herself go thoroughly.

Mr. Sagittarius gazed about him with awe-struck amazement, but Madame was equal to the occasion.  She cast the rabbit-skins imperially to a neighbouring flunkey, arranged her hair and fichu before a glass, kicked out her skirt with the heel of one of the kid boots, nipped the green chiffon into prominence with decisive fingers, and then, turning to the Prophet with all the majesty of a suburban empress, said in a powerful voice,—­

“Step forward, I beg. J’ai pret.”

The Prophet, thus encouraged, stepped forward towards an aperture that on ordinary days contained a door, but that now contained a stout elderly lady, with henna-dyed hair, a powdered face, black eyebrows and a yellow gown, on which rested a large number of jewelled ornaments that looked like small bombs.  At this lady’s elbow stood a footman with an exceedingly powerful bass voice, who shouted the names of approaching guests in a manner so uncompromising as to be terrific.  Each time he so shouted the stout lady first started and then smiled, the two operations succeeding one another with almost inconceivable rapidity and violence.

“What name, sir?” asked the footman of the Prophet, bending his powdered head till it was only about six feet two inches from the floor.

“Mr. Hennessey Vivian,” replied the Prophet, hesitating as to what he should add.

“Mr. Hemmerspeed Vivian!” roared the footman.  “What name, Madame?” (to Madame Sagittarius).

“Mr. and Madame Sagittarius of Sagittarius Lodge, the Mouse!” replied the lady majestically.

“Mr.—­and Madame—­Segerteribus—­of—­Segerteribus—­Lodge, the Mouse!” bawled the footman.

The stout lady, who was Mrs. Vane Bridgeman, started and smiled.

“Delighted to see you, Mr. Segerteribus!” she said to the Prophet.

The Prophet hastened to explain through the uproar of twenty guitars.

“Mr. Vivian is my name.  I think Miss Minerva Partridge—­”

Mrs. Bridgeman started and smiled.

“Of course,” she exclaimed.  “Of course.  You are to be kind enough to introduce me some day to Mr. Sagi—­Sagi—­something or other, and I am to introduce him to Sir Tiglath Butt, when Sir Tiglath Butt has been introduced to me by dear Miss Partridge.  It is all to work out beautifully.  Yes, yes!  Charming! charming!”

“I have ventured to bring Mr. and Madame Sagittarius with me to-night,” said the Prophet.