Can Fancy leave us for a moment?"
"Certainly. Fancy, you can go to your tatting."
"Yes, ma'am."
"Mr Hennessey has something to explain to me."
"Oh, ma'am, the houses that have been broke up by explainings!"
And with this, as the Prophet thought, appallingly appropriate
exclamation, Mrs. Fancy hurried feverishly from the room.
"Now what is the question you wish to ask me, Hennessey?" said Mrs.
Merillia, with a soft dignity.
"There are--one moment--there are eight questions, grannie," responded
the Prophet, shrinking visibly before the dread necessity by which he
found himself confronted.
"Eight! So many?"
"Yes, oh, indeed, yes."
"Well, my dear, and what are they?"
"The first is--is--grannie, when were you removed from--from the
bottle?"
A very delicate flush crept into Mrs. Merillia's charming cheeks.
"The bottle, Hennessey! Never, never!" she said, with a sort of pathetic
indignation. "How could you suppose--I--the bottle--"
Her pretty old voice died away.
"Answered, darling grannie, answered!" ejaculated the Prophet.
"Please--please don't! And now--your first tooth?"
"My first what!" cried Mrs. Merillia in almost terrified amazement.
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