“How are you certain that I’m Miss Minerva Partridge?”
“Because you told me so yourself, because I’ve seen you come into Jellybrand’s for your letters, because—”
“Haven’t I seen Malkiel come into Jellybrand’s for his?”
This unexpected retort threw the Prophet upon his beam ends. But he remembered his oath even in that very awkward position.
“Does he go to Jellybrand’s?” he exclaimed, with a wild attempt after astonishment. “But he’s a company—Sir Tiglath said so.”
“And what did your eyes say yesterday?”
“I had a cold in my eyes yesterday,” said the Prophet. “They were very weak. They were—they were aching.”
Lady Enid was silent for a moment. During that moment she was conferring with her feminine instinct. What it said to her must be guessed by the manner in which she once more entered into conversation with the Prophet.
“Mr. Vivian,” she said, with a complete change of demeanour to girlish geniality and impulsiveness, “I’m going to confide in you. I’m going to thrown myself upon your mercy.”
The Prophet blinked with amazement, like a martyr who suddenly finds himself snatched from the rack and laid upon a plush divan with a satin cushion under his head.