“Yes, yes.  It’s all right, Fancy, it’s all right.  We all agree with you.  Now, now, you mustn’t cry.”

“I can’t—­know—­other, Master Hennessey, nor—­mean different.  I can’t indeed, Master Hennessey, I can’t—­know other—­nor—­”

“No, no.  Of course not.  There, sit down and compose yourself.”

He gave the poor, afflicted liar tenderly into the care of the upper housemaid, and retraced his steps quickly to the drawing-room.  As he entered it he heard Sir Tiglath saying,—­

“The stars in their courses tremble when the accursed name of Malkiel is mentioned, and the old astronomer is dissolved in wrath at sound of the pernicious word.  Oh-h-h-h!”

“There, Hennessey!” cried Mrs. Merillia, turning swiftly to her grandson with all her cap ribands fluttering.  “You hear what Sir Tiglath says?”

“If that accursed name belonged to an individual,” continued the astronomer, waving his hands frantically over the last remaining crumpet, “instead of representing a syndicate of ruffianly underground criminals, the old astronomer, well stricken in years though he be, would hunt him out of his hiding-place and slay him with his own feeble and scientific hands.”

So saying, he grasped the crumpet as if it had been an assegai, and assailed himself with it so violently that it entirely disappeared.

“But Malkiel is an—­” began Mrs. Merillia.

The Prophet stopped her with a glance, whose almost terror-stricken authority surprised her into silence.

“But I thought Malkiel was a man,” cried Lady Enid, looking towards the Prophet.

“He—­for I will not foul my lips with the accursed name—­is not a man,” roared Sir Tiglath.  “He is a syndicate.  He is a company.  He meets together, doubtless, in some low den of the city.  He reads reports to himself of the ill-gotten gains accruing from his repeated insults to the heavens round some abominable table covered with green cloth.  He quotes the prices of the shares in him, and declares dividends, and carries balances forward, and some day will wind himself up or cast himself anew upon the mercy of the market.  Part of him is probably Jew, part South African and part America.  The whole of him is thrice accursed.”

He began to expand once more, but Mrs. Merillia perceived the tendency and checked it in time.

“Pray, Sir Tiglath,” she said almost severely, “don’t.  With my sprained ankle I am really not equal to it.”

Sir Tiglath had enough chivalry to stop, and Lady Enid once again chipped in.

“But, really, I’m almost sure Malkiel is a—­”

She caught the Prophet’s eye, as Mrs. Merillia had, and paused.  He turned to the astronomer.

“But how can a company make itself into a prophet?” he asked.