“I wonder what he means,” she said. “He never talks sensibly unless he is in his observatory, or lecturing to the Royal Society on the ‘Regularity of Heavenly Bodies,’ or—”
“The irregularities of earthly ones,” interposed Sir Tiglath. “In the accursed avenue—oh-h-h!”
“I fear, Sir Tiglath, you must be a member of the Vigilance Society,” said Mrs. Merillia.
“Yes. He looks at the morals of the stars through his telescope,” said Lady Enid. “By the way—do you, too?” she added to the Prophet, for the first time observing the instrument in the bow window.
Mrs. Merillia and Sir Tiglath exchanged a glance. An earnest expression came into the Prophet’s face.
“I confess,” he said, with becoming modesty in the presence of the great master of modern astronomy, “that I do watch the heavens from that window.”
“And for what purpose, young man?” rumbled Sir Tiglath, for the first time dropping his theatrical manner of an old barn-stormer, and speaking like any ordinary fogey, such as you may see at a meeting on behalf of the North Pole, or at a dinner of the Odde Volumes.
“For—for purposes of research, Sir Tiglath,” answered the Prophet, with some diplomacy.
“The young man trieth to put off the old astronomer with fair words,” bellowed Sir Tiglath. “The thief inserteth his thumb into the tail pocket of the unobservant archbishop for purposes of research. The young man playeth merrily forsooth with the old astronomer.”
Mrs. Merillia nodded her lace cap at him encouragingly. It was evident that there was an understanding between them. Lady Enid began to wonder what was its nature. The Prophet seemed rather disconcerted at the reception given to his not wholly artless ambiguity.