The Prophet seized his glass, but some remnants of his tattered self-control still clung to him, and he put it down without seeking further madness from its contents.
“I did,” he said firmly, even obstinately. “And I discovered—I say discovered that she was going to have an accident while on an evening expedition—or jaunt as you might perhaps prefer to call it.”
“I should certainly call it so—in the case of a lady who was an honoured grandmother,” said Malkiel the Second in assent.
“Well, Malkiel the Second,” continued the Prophet, recovering his composure as he approached his coup, “my grandmother did have an accident, as I foretold.”
“Did she have it in the square, sir?” asked Malkiel.
“And what if she did?” cried the Prophet with considerable testiness.
He was beginning to conceive a perfect hatred of the admirable neighbourhood, which he had loved so well.
“I merely ask for information, sir.”
“The accident did take place in the square certainly, and on the very night for which I predicted it.”
Malkiel the Second looked very thoughtful, even morose. He poured out another glass of champagne, drank it slowly in sips, and when the glass was empty ran the forefinger of his right hand slowly round and round its edge.