“There’s something round his head,” she remarked, with her usual almost sacred earnestness.

The Prophet mechanically put up his hands, like a man anxious to interfere with the assiduous attentions of a swarm of bees.

“Something right round his head.”

“Is it a halo?” asked Miss Minerva.

“Is it a Lincoln & Bennet, mother?” cried Mr. Moses.  “One of the shiny ones—­twenty-one bob, and twenty-five-and-six if you want a kid lining?”

“No; it’s like some sort of bird.”

“‘I heard the owl beneath my eaves complaining,’” chirped Mr. Moses, taking two or three high notes in a delicate tenor voice. “’I looked forth—­great Scot!  How it was raining!’ Is it an owl, mother?  Ask it to screech to Briskin.”

“It is no owl,” said Eureka to the Prophet.  “It is a sparrow—­your bird.”

“Is it upon the housetop, mother, having a spree all on its little alone?”

“No; it is hovering over the gentleman.”

“What does that mean?” said the Prophet, anxiously.

But at this point Eureka suddenly seemed to lose interest in the matter.  “Oh, you’re all right,” she said carelessly.  “I’m tired.  I should like a wafer.”

“Mother’s peckish.  Mother, I see an ostrich by your left elbow.  That’s a sign that you’re so peckish you could swallow anything.  Waiter!”

“Sir!”

“This lady’s so peckish she could eat anything.  Bring her some tin-tacks and a wafer.  Stop a sec.  Another brandy for Briskin.  Your calves’d do for the front row; ’pon my word, they would.  Trot, boy, trot!”

“I must speak to you alone for one moment,” whispered the Prophet to Miss Minerva, under cover of the quips of Mr. Moses.  “Sir Tiglath’s coming!”

Miss Minerva started.

“Sir Tig—­” she exclaimed and put her finger to her lips just in time to stop the “lath” from coming out.  “Mr. Moses, I’m going to the buffet for a moment with Mr. Vivian.  Eureka, darling, do eat something substantial!  All this second sight takes it out of you.”

Eureka acquiesced with a heavy sigh, Mr. Moses cried, “Aunt Eureka’s so hungry that one would declare she could even eat oats if she found they were there!” and Miss Minerva and the Prophet moved languidly towards the buffet, endeavouring, by the indifference of their movements, to cover the agitation in their hearts.

“Sir Tiglath coming here!” cried Miss Minerva under her breath, as soon as they were out of earshot.  “But he doesn’t know Mrs. Bridgeman!”

“I know—­but he’s coming.  And not only that, Mr. and Madame Sagittarius are here already!”

Miss Minerva looked closely at the Prophet in silence for a moment.  Then she said,—­

“I see—­I see!”

“What?” cried the Prophet, in great anxiety, “not the sparrow on my head?”

“No.  But I see that you’re taking to your double life in real earnest.”

“I?”