While the Prophet was simultaneously finishing the fried sole and the perusal of the final wire Mr. Ferdinand entered, in a condition of obvious astonishment that might well have cost him his place.

“If you please, sir,” he said, in an up-and-down voice, “if you please there are two—­two—­two—­”

“Two what?  Be more explicit, Mr. Ferdinand.”

“Two—­well, sir, kids at the door waiting for you to see them, sir.”

“Two kids!  What—­from the goat show that’s going on at the Westminster Aquarium!” cried the Prophet in great surprise.

“Maybe, sir.  I can’t say, indeed, sir.  Am I to show them in, sir?”

“Show them in!  Are you gone mad, Mr. Ferdinand?  They must be driven out at once.  If Mrs. Merillia were to see them, she might be greatly alarmed.  I’ll—­I’ll—­follow me, Mr. Ferdinand, closely.”

So saying the Prophet stepped valiantly into the hall.  There, by the umbrella stand, stood two small children, boy and girl, very neatly dressed in a sailor suit and a grey merino.  The little boy held in his hand a large round straw hat, on the blue riband of which was inscribed in letters of gold, “H.M.S.  Hercules.”  The little girl wore a pleasant pigtail tied with a riband of the same hue.

The meaning of Mr. Ferdinand’s vulgar and misleading slang suddenly dawned on the Prophet.  He cast a look of very grave rebuke on Mr. Ferdinand, then, walking up to the little boy and girl he said in his most ingratiating manner,—­

“Well, my little ones, what can I do for you?”

“Not so little, if you please, Mr. Vivian,” replied the boy in a piping, but very self-possessed voice.  “Can we see you in private for a moment?”

“If you please, Mr. Vivian,” added the little girl.  “Si sit prudentium.”

“Dentia, Corona,” corrected the little boy.

The Prophet turned white to the very lips.

“Certainly, certainly,” he said in a violently furtive manner.  “Come this way, my children.  Mr. Ferdinand, if Mrs. Merillia should inquire for me, you will say that I’m busy writing—­no, no, just busy—­very busy.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’m not to be disturbed.  This way, my little ones.”

“Not so little, Mr. Vivian,” piped again the small boy, trotting obediently, with his sister, into the Prophet’s library, the door of which was immediately closed behind them.

“Well, I’m—­” said Mr. Ferdinand.  “Kids in the library!  I am—­Gustavus!”

He rushed frenetically towards the servants’ hall to confer upon the situation with his intellectual subordinate.

Meanwhile the Prophet was closeted with the two kids.

“Pray sit down,” he said, very nervously, and smiling forcibly.  “Pray sit down, my dears.”

The kids obeyed with aplomb, keeping their large and strained eyes fixed upon the Prophet.

“Is it Coronus and Capricorna?” continued the Prophet, with an effort after blithe familiarity.  “Is it?”