“Why?”
“Because when one’s once been really and truly silly it’s impossible not to repeat the act, absolutely impossible. You’ll never stop now. You’ll go on from one thing to another, as I do.”
“I cannot think that prophecy is silly,” said the Prophet, with some stiffness.
She looked at him with frank admiration.
“You’re worse than I am! It’s splendid!”
“Worse!”
“Why, yes. You’re foolish enough to think your silly acts sensible. I wish I could get to that. Then perhaps I could impose on Sir Tiglath more easily too.”
She considered this idea seriously, as they started on again, and gradually got free of the little crowd that had been sitting on the horse’s head.
“I must impose upon him,” she said. “And you’ve got to help me.”
“I!” cried the Prophet, feeling terribly unequal to everything. “I cannot possibly consent—”