“Gustavus,” said the Prophet, “if that is a visitor I am not at home. Mrs. Merillia is not at home either.”
It was by this time between one and two in the morning.
“Not at home, sir. Yes, sir.”
The Prophet concealed himself near the hat-rack, and Gustavus went softly to the door and opened it.
“Not at home, ma’am,” the Prophet heard him say, formally.
“What d’you mean, young man?” replied the powerful voice of Madame. “Where is my husband?”
“Ma’am?”
“Where, I say, is my husband?”
“I couldn’t say, I’m sure, ma’am. But Mrs. Merillia and Mr. Vivian are not at home.”
“Then all I can say is they ought to be in at this time of night. Permit me to pass. Are you aware that Mr. Vivian has invited me to spend the night here? Noctes ambrosianes.”