“The occiput?” said Mrs. Bridgeman, hearing imperfectly. “Oh, yes, Sir Tiglath, I told him,—I told Mr. Biggle—to make quite sure—yes, as to the occiput matter.”
The saturnine little clergyman, who was again in motion near by, caught his name and stopped, as Sir Tiglath, roaring against “The Gipsies of Granada,” continued,—
“And your original adviser was Mr. Sagittarius, was he?”
On hearing a word she understood, Mrs. Bridgeman brightened up, and, perceiving the little clergyman, she answered,—
“Mr. Sagittarius—ah, yes! Sir Tiglath is speaking of you, Mr. Sagittarius.”
The little clergyman turned almost black in the face.
“Biggle!” he exclaimed, in a voice of thunder. “Biggle! Biggle!”
And, without further parley, he rushed to the cloak-room, seized someone else’s hat and coat, and fared forth into the night. Lady Enid, who had meant to coach Mrs. Bridgeman very carefully for the meeting with Sir Tiglath, but whose plans were completely upset by the astronomer’s premature advent, now endeavoured to interpose.
“By the way,” she said, in a very calm voice, “where is dear Mr. Sagittarius? I haven’t seen him yet.”
“I’m afraid he’s angry with me,” said Mrs. Bridgeman, alluding to the little clergyman. “I really can’t think why.”