If they should"--his ordinary
gentle eyes flamed almost furiously--"Mr. Ferdinand is to burn them
unread--yes, to ashes. I will tell him." And he escorted Lady Enid
tumultuously downstairs, missing his footing at every second step.
In the square they parted from Mr. Green, who said,--
"Good-bye, Niddy, old girl. What do I want to pick up at Tattersall's?"
"A polo pony, Bob," she answered firmly.
"Oh, a polo pony. Thanks, Chin, chin, Hen. Polo pony is it?"
He strode off, whistling "She wore a wreath of roses" in a puzzled
manner, but still preserving the accepted demeanour of a bulwark.
As soon as Mr. Green was out of sight Lady Enid said,--
"We aren't going to Hill Street."
"Aren't we?" replied the Prophet, feebly.
"No. I must see Sir Tiglath Butt to-day. I want you to take me to his
door."
"Where is his door?"
"In Kensington Square. Do you mind hailing a four-wheeler. We can talk
privately there. No one will hear us."
The Prophet hailed a growler, wondering whether they would be able to
hear each other. As they got in Lady Enid, after giving the direction,
said to the cabman, who was a short person, with curling ebon whiskers,
a broken-up expression and a broken-down manner:
"Drive slowly, please and I'll give you an extra six-pence.
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