“Let me escort you.”
“Thanks. I think I will.”
“You won’t mind stopping for a moment at Hollings’s?” said the Prophet, in Piccadilly Circus. “I promised to buy some roses. Somebody is coming in to tea.”
“On, no. But who is it?”
“I don’t know. Only one person, I think. An old friend, no doubt. Probably the Central American Ambassador’s grandfather.”
“Oh, if that’s all! I feel a little shaky still.”
“Naturally.”
The Prophet bought the roses and they drove on.
“It’s very nice of you not to ask any questions,” observed Lady Enid, presently.
The Prophet had been thinking it was, but he only said,—