“He is very modest, very retiring. Mrs. Bridgeman’s is really the only house in London at which you can meet him. Isn’t that so, Mr. Vivian?”
“Yes.”
“You say he has made investigation into the possibility of there being oxygen in many of the holy stars?”
“Mr. Vivian!”
“Yes.”
“The old astronomer must encounter him!” exclaimed Sir Tiglath, puffing furiously as he rolled about the room.
“Mr. Vivian will arrange it,” Lady Enid said, with sparkling eyes, “at Mrs. Bridgeman’s. That’s a bargain. Come, Mr. Vivian!”
And almost before the Prophet knew what she was doing, she had maneuvered him out into Kensington Square, and was pioneering him swiftly towards the High street.
“We’ll take a hansom home,” she said gaily, “and the man can drive as fast as ever he likes.”
In half a minute the Prophet found himself in a hansom, bowling along towards Mayfair. The first words he said, when he was able to speak, were,—