“Yes, please, a hansom,” said Lady Enid Thistle, some five minutes later, as she and the Prophet stood together upon the kerb in front of the rabbit shop. “I feel much better now.”
The Prophet hailed a hansom and handed her into it.
“Which way are you going?” he asked.
Lady Enid looked doubtful.
“I ought to be going back to Jellybrand’s,” she said. “I had an appointment. But really—you see Mr. Sagittarius is there, and altogether—I don’t know.”
She was obviously still upset by the “creaming foam,” and the other incidents of the afternoon.
“Come to tea with grannie,” said the Prophet.
“She’s at home?”
“Yes. She’s twisted her ankle.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry.”