“Full particulars?” said the Prophet.  “What of?”

“Of her removal from the bottle, cutting of her first tooth, short coating, going into skirts, putting of the hair up, day of marriage and widowhood, illnesses—­”

“Especially the rashes, Jupiter,” struck in Madame.

“What a mind!” said Mr. Sagittarius aside to the Prophet.

“What!”

“Especially as Madame says, any illnesses taking the form of a rash—­the epidemic form, as I may say—­and so forth.  We are to receive this document by the first post Thursday morning.”

“Have you dotted all that down, Mr. Vivian?” inquired Madame.

The Prophet hastily made a large variety of scratches with the lead pencil.

“And now,” continued Mr. Sagittarius.

There was a third tap at the door.

“Come in,” cried the Prophet, distractedly, and feeling as if homicidal mania were rapidly creeping upon him.

Mr. Ferdinand appeared once more, with a mouth like a purse.

“Her ladyship says she really must go in a moment, sir, and—­and Mrs. Merillia begs that—­”

“I am coming at once, Mr. Ferdinand.  I swear it.  Go upstairs and swear I swear it.”

“Yes, sir.”

Mr. Ferdinand departed, rather with the demeanour of an archbishop who has been inveigled into pledging himself, on his archiepiscopal oath, to commit some horrid crime.  The Prophet turned, almost violently, towards his guests.

“I must go,” he cried.  “I must indeed.  Pray forgive me.  You see how I am circumstanced.  Permit me to show you to the door.”

“You swear, sir, to carry out all our directions and to dot down—­”

“I do.  I swear solemnly to dot down—­if you will only—­this way.  Take care of the mat.”

“We trust you, Mr. Vivian,” said Madame, with majestic pathos.  “A wife, a mother trusts you. Placens uxus!  Mater familiaris.”

“I pledge my honour.  This is the—­no, no, not that way, not that way!”

The worthy couple, by mistake, no doubt, were proceeding towards the grand staircase, having missed the way to the hall door, and as the Prophet, following them up with almost unimaginable activity, drew near enough to drum the right direction into their backs, Lady Enid became visible on the landing above.  Mr. Sagittarius perceived her.

“Why, it’s Miss Minerv—­” he began.

“This way, this way!” cried the Prophet, wheeling them round and driving them, but always like a thorough gentleman, towards the square.

“Then she leads a double life, too!” said Mr. Sagittarius, solemnly, fixing his strained eyes upon the Prophet.

“She?  Who?” said Madame, sharply.

She had not seen Lady Enid.

“All of us, my love, all of us,” returned her husband, as the Prophet succeeded in shepherding them on to the pavement.

“Good-bye,” he cried.

With almost inconceivable rapidity he shut the door.  As he did so two vague echoes seemed to faint on his ear.  One was male, a dreamlike—­“First post, Thursday!” The other was female, a fairylike—­“Jactum alea sunt.”