“It would take me hours to tell you. First there was—”
“I really have to go at five.”
“Then I’ll finish about Sir Tiglath. He’s an utterly sensible old man, and so is different from all other old men, for you know human folly increases enormously with age. Isn’t that lovely? Now, Mr. Vivian, Sir Tiglath admires me.”
“Ah!”
“I know. You think that proves him the contrary of what I’ve said.”
“Not at all!” exclaimed the Prophet, with frenzied courtesy, “not at all!”
“Yes, you do. But you’re wrong. He doesn’t exactly admire my character, but he likes me because I’m tall, and have pleasant coloured eyes, and thick hair, and walk well, and know that he’s really an unusually sensible old man.”
“Oh, is that it?”
“Yes. But now, if he could be made to think that I really am what I look like—a thoroughly sensible young woman, he would more than admire me, he would adore me.”
“But if you wish him to?” asked the Prophet in blank amazement.