Having at last emerged from his Epicurean silence, the astronomer now proceeded to take the floor. Satisfied that he had laid a presuming female low, he swung round, as if on a pivot, to where Mr. Sagittarius was sitting in the greatest agitation, and roared,—
“And now, sir what is all this about your being an outside broker? I was distinctly informed by this gentleman only a night or two ago that you were a distinguished astronomer.”
“I am betrayed!” cried Mr. Sagittarius, dropping the knife and fork which he had just picked up for the dissection of a lobster croquette. “I said this was a trap. I said it was a rat-trap from the first.”
“I knew he must be a ratcatcher,” whispered Lady Julia to the Prophet, who was about to rise from his seat and endeavour to calm his guest. “I was certain no one but a ratcatcher could talk in such a manner.”
“He is not indeed! Mr. Sagittarius, pray sit down! You are alarming my grandmother.”
“I can’t help that, sir. I am not going to sit here, sir, and be slain.”
“Tsh! Tsh! I merely informed Sir Tiglath the other evening that what Miss Minerva had told him about you was true.”
“Miss Minerva!” cried Madame, glancing at her husband in a most terrible manner. “Miss Minerva!”
“Lady Enid Thistle, I mean,” cried the Prophet, mentally cursing the day when he was born.
“Who’s that?” exclaimed Madame, beginning to look almost exactly like Medusa.