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.