“Ah, an abridged edition, no doubt,” said the Prophet. “Still—”
“I am better now,” interposed Madame Sagittarius, brushing some crumbs of toast from her pelisse with the orange handkerchief. “Jupiter, if you are ready, we can explain the test to the gentleman.”
So saying she drew a vinaigrette, set with fine imitation carbuncles, from the plush reticule, and applied it majestically to her nose. The Prophet grew really perturbed. He remembered his promise to his grandmother and Sir Tiglath, and felt that he must assert himself more strongly.
“I assure you,” he began, with some show of firmness, “no tests will be necessary. My telescope has already been removed from its position, and—”
“Then it must be reinstated, sir,” said Mr. Sagittarius, “and this very night. Madame has hit upon a plan, sir, of searching you to the quick. Trust a woman, sir, to do that.”
“I should naturally trust Madame Sagittarius,” said the Prophet, very politely. “But I really cannot—”
“So you say, sir. Our business is to find out whether, living in the Berkeley Square as you do, you can bring off a prophecy of any importance or not. The future of myself, Madame and family depends upon the results of the experiments which we shall make upon you during the next few days.”
The Prophet began to feel as if he were shut up alone with a couple of determined practitioners of vivisection.
“Let’s see, my dear,” continued Mr. Sagittarius, addressing his wife, “what was it to be?”
“The honored grandmother one,” replied the lady, tersely.