“Why?”
“Because I always thought it would be supremely idiotic of me to accept him.”
The Prophet felt that if he listened to another remark of such a nature his brain would snap and he would instantly be taken with a tearing fit of hysterics. He therefore turned round and slowly ascended to the first floor.
“Kindly step into the drawing-room,” he said, having first, by a rapid glance, assured himself that Malkiel was not changing Mr. Ferdinand’s trousers there. “I will send Mrs. Fancy to chaperon you.”
Lady Enid stepped in obediently, and the Prophet, who could distinctly hear Mrs. Fancy sobbing on the landing above, proceeded thither, took her hand and guided her down to the drawing-room.
“Oh, my poor, poor missis!” gulped the devoted creature. “Oh, my—”
“Precisely,” rejoined the Prophet, with passionless equanimity. “Please go in there and remain to guard this young lady.”
He assisted Mrs. Fancy to fall in a heap upon the nearest sociable, and then, still moving with a species of frozen deliberation, betook himself once more to the hall. The astronomer and Gustavus were standing there in silence.
“Sir Tiglath,” said the Prophet, in a very formal manner, “you can now begin to search for this ruffian.”
Sir Tiglath cleared his throat, and continued to stand still.