A cup of
tea stood beside her upon a table near a bowl of red and yellow tulips,
a canary was singing in its cage amid a shower of bird-seed, and "the
dog" lay stretched before the blazing fire upon a milk-white rug, over
which a pale ray of winter sunshine fell. As the Prophet came in Mrs.
Merillia glanced up.
"Hennessey," she said, "you are growin' to look like Lord Brandling,
when he combined the Premiership with the Foreign Office and we had that
dreadful complication with Iceland. My dear boy, you are corrugated with
thought and care. What is the matter? My ankle is much better. You
need not be anxious about me. Has Venus been playing you another jade's
trick?"
The Prophet sat down and stroked Beau's sable back with his forefinger.
"I have scarcely looked at Venus since you were injured, grannie," he
answered. "I have scarcely dared to."
"I'm glad to hear it. Since the days of Adonis she has always had a
dangerous influence on young men. If you want to look at anybody, look
at that pretty, sensible cousin of Robert Green's."
"Lady Enid. Yes, she is sensible. I believe she is in Hampshire staying
with the Churchmores."
He looked calmer for a moment, but the corrugated expression quickly
returned.
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