“Well, I’m sure I’ve done nothing.”
“Nothing!” said the Prophet, losing his head under the influence of the guitars, which were now getting under way in a fantasia on “Carmen.” “Nothing! Why, you made me come here, you insisted on my introducing Mr. Sagittarius to Mrs. Bridgeman, you told Sir Tiglath Mrs. Bridgeman and I were old friends and had made investigations together, assisted by Mr. Sagittarius, you—”
“Oh, well, that’s nothing. But Sir Tiglath mustn’t see me here as Miss Minerva. Has he arrived yet?”
“I don’t think so. He’s got the cab we had yesterday and the horse.”
“The one that tumbles down so cleverly when it’s not too tired? Capital! Run to the cloak-room, meet Sir Tiglath there, and persuade him to go home.”
But here the Prophet struck.
“I regret I can’t,” he said, almost firmly.
“But you must.”
“I regret sincerely that I am unable.”
“Why? Mr. Vivian, when a lady asks you!”