“Well, sir, as soon as Madame and I had come to the Mouse we resolved that we could do no better than that. It was salubrious, it was retired, and it was N.”
“You said—?”
“N., sir.”
“But what is en?”
“Sir?”
The Prophet had grown very red, but he was seized by the desperation that occasionally attacks ignorance, and renders it, for a moment, determinedly explicit.
“I ask you what does en mean? I am, I fear, a very ill-informed person, and I really don’t know.”
“Think of an envelope, sir,” said Malkiel, with gentle commiseration. “Well, are you thinking?”
The Prophet grew purple.
“I am—but it is no use. Besides, why on earth should I think of an envelope? I beg you to explain.”