Mrs. Merillia shook hands with Sir Tiglath and glanced despairingly around her. It was sufficiently obvious that she was considering how to arrange the procession to the dining-room.
“Hennessey,” she began, “will you take Lady Julia? Sir Tiglath, will you”—she paused, but there was no help for it, she was obliged to continue—“take Mrs. Sagittarius? Let me introduce you, Sir Tiglath Butt—Mrs. Sagittarius. Mr. Sagittarius, will you take—”
“Mr. Sagittarius!” roared Sir Tiglath. “Where is he?”
That gentleman gathered Mr. Ferdinand’s trousers up in both hands and prepared for instantaneous flight.
“Where is he?” bellowed Sir Tiglath, wheeling round with amazing rapidity for so fat a man. “Ha!”
He had viewed Mr. Sagittarius, who, grasping Mr. Ferdinand’s suit in pleats, ducked his head like one wishing to be beforehand with violence and set the spats towards the door. Sir Tiglath advanced upon him.
“The old astronomer has heard the name of Sagittarius,” he vociferated. “He has been informed that—”
“It’s not true, sir,” cried Mr. Sagittarius, pale with terror. “It is not true. I deny it. I am an Ameri—I mean I am not the American syndicate—you are in error, in absolute error. I swear it. I take the heavens to witness.”
At this remarkable and comprehensive statement Mrs. Merillia and Lady Julia looked at each other in elegant amazement.
“What do you mean, sir?” exclaimed Sir Tiglath. “And why do you insult the sacred heavens, you an astronomer!”