“All right. Then I’ll pop round on you—say five o’clock.”
“No, Bob, no, I can’t say that. I’m very sorry, but I can’t possibly say that.”
“Right you are. Too clever for me, I s’pose. Look me up at the Tintack to-night then—any time after ten.”
“If I can, Bob, I will,” replied the Prophet, with impressive uncertainty, “I say if I can I will do so.”
“Done! If you can’t, then I’m not to expect you. That it?”
“That is it—precisely.”
“Good-bye, Niddy, old girl. Keep your pecker up. By the way, if you want a real good tune for a Charity sing-song, a real rouser, try ‘Nancy Lee.’”
He was gone, humming vigorously that new-fangled favourite.
“Sit down, Mr. Vivian,” said Lady Enid, looking her right size. “We’ve got a lot to say to one another.”
“I have to be home at five,” replied the Prophet, abstractedly.