In the hall he found Gustavus still on his knees between Lady Enid and Sir Tiglath.
“Lady Enid,” he said, even in this hour mindful of the proprieties, “you have heard what this villain is doing here, and must be sensible that you can take no part in this search.”
“Oh, but I particularly want—” began Lady Enid, hastily.
“Pardon me,” said the Prophet, with more firmness than Napoleon ever showed to his marshals. “You must retire. Please come this way. Mrs. Fancy will look after you.”
“Oh, but really, Mr. Vivian, I—”
“Kindly follow me.”
Lady Enid hesitated for a moment, but the Prophet’s manner was too much for her, and when he stepped, like a clockwork automaton with a steel interior, towards the staircase, she crept mildly in his wake.
“Can’t I really—?” she whispered in his ear.
“Certainly not. If you were a married woman, possibly—”
“Well, but I am engaged,” she murmured.