“But, ma’am, Mr. Viv—”
“That’ll do. If I have any more of your impertinence I’ll make you repent of it. You are evidently not aware who I am.”
The Prophet, by the hat-rack, did not fail to hear a new note in the deep contralto of Madame, a note of triumph, a trumpet note of profound conceit. His heart sank before this determined music, and it sank even lower towards his pumps when, a moment later, he found himself confronted by the lady, wrapped closely in the rabbit-skins, and absolutely bulging with vanity and self-appreciation.
“What! Mr. Vivian!” began the lady.
“Hush!” said the Prophet, “for mercy’s sake—hush!”
And, acting upon the impulse of the moment, he suddenly seized Madame by the hand, and hurried her through the swinging door into the servants’ hall.
“Here’s a go,” murmured Gustavus in the greatest trepidation. “If they don’t find the thin party I’m a josser.”
Meanwhile the Prophet and Madame were standing face to face before the what-not of Gustavus.
“My grandmother is awake—that is asleep,” said the Prophet. “We must not wake her on any account.”
“Oh,” returned Madame, with a toss of her head, “your grandmother seems to be a very fidgety old lady, I’m sure—although you do tell a parcel of lies about her.”