He saw his beloved grandmother by
the fire and the bright stars twinkling through the frosty window-panes.
He thought of his telescope, of Sir Tiglath, of Mr. Malkiel, and of the
future, and the velvety blue walls of the drawing-room seemed to spin
round him.
"Prophecy," continued Mrs. Merillia, fanning herself till the lace
lappets of her priceless cap fluttered above her orderly and clasping
wig, "is dangerous, for often it can cause its own fulfilment. If
you hadn't said that because of a certain conjunction of planets--or
whatever it was--in my horoscope, I should have an accident to-night, I
shouldn't have jumped out of the brougham. I should have waited for Mr.
Ferdinand to assist me, as befits a gentlewoman."
"But, grannie, I assure you I was most anxious to save you. I hoped I
had made a mistake in your horoscope. I did, really. I was so nervous
that I sent to Mr. Malkiel while you were at the theatre and implored
him to look into the matter as an expert."
"Mr. Malkiel! Who is he? Do we know him?"
"No. But we know his marvellous _Almanac_."
"The _Almanac_ person! Why, Malkiel is surely a myth, Hennessey, a
number of people, a company, a syndicate, or something of that kind.
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