“What engagement, sir?” said Mr. Sagittarius, sternly. “You have sworn to us. You must know that.”
“I have sworn to almost everyone,” cried the distracted Prophet. “But this swear—I mean this oath must be kept before yours.”
“Before ours, sir?”
“It comes on before eleven. I keep my oath to you after it. I manage the two, don’t you see?”
“He will see that you manage the two, Mr. Vivian, I can assure you,” said Madame, viciously. “Won’t you, Jupiter?”
“Certainly, my dear. What is the oath, sir, that you place before ours?”
“An oath to Miss Minerva,” returned the Prophet, beginning to feel reckless, firm in the conviction that it was henceforth his destiny to be the very sport of Fate.
“Ha!” cried Mr. Sagittarius. “The double life!”
“Who is Miss Minerva, pray?” said Madame, shooting a very penetrating glance upon her husband.
“Your husband can tell you that,” replied the Prophet, by no means without guile.