The Prophet above sprang up from the couch by the fire, Mr. Ferdinand
below closed his discussion with the upper housemaid, and the former
rapidly came down, the latter up, stairs as the roll of wheels broke
through the silence of the square.

Gustavus, in an attitude of bridled curiosity, was posed beneath a polar
bear that held an electric lamp. His hand was laid upon the back of the
armchair, and his round hazel eyes were turned expectantly towards the
hall as his two masters joined him.

"Is all ready, Mr. Ferdinand?" said the Prophet, anxiously.

"All is ready, sir," replied the butler.

"Wheel the chair forward, Gustavus, if you please," said the Prophet.
"Mrs. Merillia must not be dropped. Remember that."

"Not be dropped, sir--no."

The chair ran forward on its amicable castors as a carriage was heard
to stop outside. Mr. Ferdinand flung open the portal, and the Prophet
glided out excitedly upon the step.

"Well?" he cried, "well?"

A footman, in a long drab coat with red facings, was preparing to get
off the box of a smart brougham, but before he could reach the pavement,
a charming head, covered with a lace cap, was thrust out of the window,
and a musical and almost girlish voice cried,--