“How very trying!” murmured the Prophet, mechanically.
“It was, Mr. Vivian. It often made me fell quite ill. Nobody but you knows how I have suffered.”
“And why do I know?” inquired the Prophet.
“Because I realised yesterday that you must be almost as silly by nature as I am.”
“Yesterday—why? When?”
“When you said to Sir Tiglath that you could prophesy.”
The Prophet stiffened. She laughed almost affectionately.
“So absurd! But I was vexed when you said you’d give it up. You mustn’t do that, or you’ll be flying in the face of your own folly.”
She drew the Aberdeen lean-to, which ran easily on Edinburgh castors, a little nearer to him, and continued.
“At least I felt obliged to seek an outlet. I could not stifle my real self for ever, and yet I could not be comfortably silly with those who were absolutely convinced of my permanent good sense. I tried to be several times.