Mrs. Bridgeman behaved as usual.
“So glad!” she said. “So enchanted! Just a few interesting people. So good of you to come. Table-turning is—”
At this moment Lady Enid nipped her friend’s arm, and Sir Tiglath exclaimed, looking from Mrs. Bridgeman to the Prophet,—
“What, madam? So you’re the brain and eye, eh? Is that it?”
The guitars engaged in “The Gipsies of Granada are wild as mountain birds,” and Mrs. Bridgeman looked engagingly distraught, and replied,—
“Ah, yes, indeed! The brain and I, Sir Tiglath; so good of you to say so!”
“You prompted his interest in the holy stars?” continued Sir Tiglath, speaking very loud, and still stopping one ear with his hand. “You drove him to the telescope; you told him to clear the matter up, did you?”
“What matter?” said Mrs. Bridgeman, trying not to look as stupid as she felt, but only with moderate success.
“Say the oxygen, darling,” whispered Lady Enid in one of her ears.
“Say the oxygen!” hissed the Prophet into the other.