"Say the oxygen, darling," whispered Lady Enid in one of her ears.
"Say the oxygen!" hissed the Prophet into the other.
"The occiput?" said Mrs. Bridgeman, hearing imperfectly. "Oh, yes, Sir
Tiglath, I told him,--I told Mr. Biggle--to make quite sure--yes, as to
the occiput matter."
The saturnine little clergyman, who was again in motion near by, caught
his name and stopped, as Sir Tiglath, roaring against "The Gipsies of
Granada," continued,--
"And your original adviser was Mr. Sagittarius, was he?"
On hearing a word she understood, Mrs. Bridgeman brightened up, and,
perceiving the little clergyman, she answered,--
"Mr. Sagittarius--ah, yes! Sir Tiglath is speaking of you, Mr.
Sagittarius."
The little clergyman turned almost black in the face.
"Biggle!" he exclaimed, in a voice of thunder. "Biggle! Biggle!"
And, without further parley, he rushed to the cloak-room, seized someone
else's hat and coat, and fared forth into the night. Lady Enid, who had
meant to coach Mrs. Bridgeman very carefully for the meeting with Sir
Tiglath, but whose plans were completely upset by the astronomer's
premature advent, now endeavoured to interpose.
Pages:
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335