In the library they found Madame, holding the great
Juvenile upside down and looking exceedingly cross.
"Will you be good enough to come upstairs?" said the Prophet to her
very politely, though his fingers twitched to strangle her. "I wish to
present you to my grandmother, and dinner is just ready."
Madame rose with dignity.
"I am ready too," she said, with a click. "_Semper paratis_."
And, shaking up the fichu, she ascended the stairs. Outside the
drawing-room door the Prophet, who seemed strangely calm, but who was
in reality almost bursting with nervous excitement, paused and faced his
old and valued friends.
"You will forgive my saying so, I hope," he whispered, "but my
grandmother is not well and much conversation tires her. So we don't
talk too much in her presence. Only just now and then, you understand."
And with this last injunction--futile, he knew as he gave it--he
commended himself to whatever powers there be and opened the door.
Sir Tiglath had not yet arrived, but Lady Julia Postlethwaite was seated
on a sofa by Mrs. Merillia, and was conversing with her about the Court,
the dreadful amount of money a certain duke--her third cousin--had
recently had to pay in Death Duties, the corrupt condition of society,
and the absurd pretensions of the lower middle classes.
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