“Yes, I had—­to be sillier even than usual.  And if it hadn’t been for Sir Tiglath catching sight of me in the avenue, and then—­Mr. Sagittarius and you being in the parlour—­”

She stopped.

“By the way,” she said, in her usual tone of breezy common sense, “were you living a double life in the parlour?”

“I!” said the Prophet.  “Oh, no, not at all.  I never do anything of that kind.”

“Sure?”

“Quite certain.”

“You’re not going to?”

“Certainly not.  Nothing would induce me.”

She looked at him, as if unconvinced, raising her dark, sensible eyebrows.

“All Jellybrand’s clients do,” she said.  “And I’m certain Mr. Sagittarius—­”

“I assure you,” said the Prophet, with the heavy earnestness of absolute insincerity, “Mr. Sagittarius is the most single lived man I ever met, the very most.  But why did Sir Tiglath, that is, why did you—?”

“Try to avoid him?  Well—­”

For the first time she hesitated, and began to look slightly confused.

“Well,” she repeated, “Sir Tiglath is a very strange, peculiar old man.”

The Prophet thought that if the young librarian had been present he would have eliminated the second adjective.

“Peculiar!  Yes, he is.  His appearance, his manner—­”

“Oh, I don’t mean that.”

“No?”

“No.  Lots of elderly men have purple faces, turned legs and roaring voices.  You must know that.  Sir Tiglath is peculiar in this way—­he is quite elderly and yet he’s not in the least little bit silly.”

“Oh!”

“He’s a thoroughly sensible old man, the only one I ever met.”

“Your father?”

“The Chieftain can be very foolish at times.  That’s why he’s always relied so on me.”

She gave this proof triumphantly.  The Prophet felt bound to accept it.

“Sir Tiglath is really, as an old man, what everybody thinks I am, as a young woman.  D’you see?”

“You mean?”

“The opposite of me.  And in this way too.  While I hide my silliness under my eyebrows, and hair, and smile, and manner, he hides his sensibleness under his.  When people meet me they always think—­what a common-sense young woman!  When they meet him they always think—­what a preposterous old man!”

“Well, but then,” cried the Prophet, struck by a sudden idea, “if that is so, how can you live a double life as Miss Minerva Partridge?  You can’t change your eyebrows with your name!”

“Ah, you don’t know women!” she murmured.  “No, but you see I begin at once.”

“Begin?”