“Well, my dear,” she said, “go back to your friends, but don’t forget that Lady Julia and Sir Tiglath are dining here at half-past seven.”
“Grannie,” cried the Prophet, with a desperate feeling that Madame meant to stay, “you ought not to dine downstairs to-night. Let me send and put them off.”
“No, Hennessey,” she answered, with gentle decision. “I feel better, and I want cheering up. My morning was not altogether pleasant.”
The Prophet understood that she was alluding to his questions, and felt cut to the heart. His home seemed crumbling about him, but he knew not what to do or what to say. Mrs. Merillia observed his agitation, but she did not choose to remark upon it, for she considered curiosity the most vulgar of all the vices.
“Go to your friends, dear,” she said again. “But be in time for dinner.”
“Yes, grannie.”
The Prophet descended the stairs and met Mr. Ferdinand at the bottom.
“Am I to send for the police, sir?”
“No, no. I’ve explained matters.”
“And about dinner, sir?”