“Yes, indeed, I so agree with you, dear Mr. Sagittarius,” said Mrs. Bridgeman to the little clergyman.
“Biggle!” the little clergyman cried in a portentous voice. “Biggle! Biggle!”
“What does he mean?” whispered Mrs. Bridgeman to the Prophet. “How does one?”
“I think that is his name. These are Mr. and Madame Sagittarius.”
Mrs. Bridgeman started and smiled.
“Biggle—of course,” she said to the little clergyman, who passed on with an air of reliant self-satisfaction. “Delighted to see you,” she added, this time addressing the Prophet’s old and valued friends. “Ah! Mr. Sagi—Sagi—um—I have heard so much of you from dear Miss Minerva.”
The wild, high notes of a flute, played by a silly gentleman from Tooting, shrilled through the tupping of the guitars, and Mr. Sagittarius, trembling in every limb, hissed in Mrs. Bridgeman’s ear,—
“Hush, ma’am, for mercy’s sake!”
Mrs. Bridgeman started and forgot to smile.
“My loved and honoured wife,” continued Mr. Sagittarius, in a loud and anxious voice, “more to me than any lunar guide or starry monitor! Madame Sagittarius, a lady of deep education, ma’am.”