“Grannie,” he said, turning to Mrs. Merillia, “you know how deeply the stars interest me.”
“For their own sake, young man?” said Sir Tiglath. “Or as the accursed avenue interests the foolish virgins—for the sake of frivolity, idle curiosity, or dark doings which could not support the light even of a star of the sixth magnitude? Can you tell your admirable and revered granddam that?”
This time, underneath his preposterous manner and fantastic speech, both Lady Enid and the Prophet fancied that they could detect an element of real gravity, even perhaps a hint of weighty censure which made them both feel very young—rising two, or thereabouts.
“I was originally led to study stars, Sir Tiglath, because I had the honour to meet you and make your acquaintance,” said the Prophet, valiantly.
The astronomer lapsed at once into his first manner.
“In what fair company did the old astronomer converse with the young man?” he cried. “His memory faileth him. He doteth and cannot recall the great occasion.”
“It was at the Colley Cibber Club, Sir Tiglath,” said the Prophet, firmly. “But we—we did not converse. You had a—a slight indisposition.”
“Would you venture to imply—in the presence of your notable granddam—that one had looked upon the wine when it was red, young man?”
“You had a glass of port by you certainly, Sir Tiglath. But you also had a cold which, you gave me to understand—by signs—had affected your throat and prevented you from carrying on conversation.
“Then was it the vision of the old astronomer’s personal and starry beauty that led you, hot foot, to Venus through yonder telescope? Oh-h-h-h!”