“Lies!” said the Prophet, with some dignity.
“Yes—lies. She don’t wear long clothes—”
“I beg your pardon!”
“She do not. She don’t wear her hair down. She don’t put her lips to the bottle. She don’t. Where is Mr. Sagi—where is Malkiel the Second?”
“I have no idea. And now, Madame, I regret that I must conduct you to your carriage. The hour is late, my grandmother is seriously indisposed, and I myself need rest.”
“Well, then, you can’t have it,” retorted the lady with authoritative spitefulness. “You can’t have it, not till three o’clock.”
“I beg your pardon!” said the Prophet, with trembling lips.
“What for?”
“I really regret that I must retire. Allow me—”
“I’ll not allow you. Where is my husband? He’s not at the Zoological Gardens.”