“Gustavus,” said the Prophet in an awful voice, “you may retire, but first let me tell you one thing.”
“Certainly, sir,” said the footman, beginning to tremble.
“The circumstances that have rendered a hitherto peaceful household more disordered than an abode of madmen are about to be brought to an end for ever. There is a point at which a gentleman must either cease to be a gentleman or cease to be a man. I have reached that point, Gustavus, and I am about to cease to be a gentleman.”
And, with this terrible statement, the Prophet advanced with a sort of appalling deliberation and threw the front door wide open.
Upon the doorstep stood Lady Enid wrapped in a pink opera cloak and Sir Tiglath Butt shrouded in the Inverness. The Prophet faced them with a marble demeanour.
“I thought you’d be here, Mr. Vivian,” began Lady Enid in a bright manner.
“I am here,” said the Prophet, speaking in a voice that might well have issued from a statue.
“Where is he?” roared Sir Tiglath. “Where is he? Oh-h-h-h!”
“Sir Tiglath means Malkiel,” explained Lady Enid. “He is most anxious to meet him.”
“Why?” said the Prophet, still in the same inhuman voice.