She tapped one of her small, mittened hands over the other and slightly
twisted her long and pointed nose.

"I want to learn his views on this strange faculty of prophecy. Has it
ever occurred to you that among all our immense acquaintance we don't
number a single prophet?"

"One can't know everybody, Hennessey. And I believe that prophets always
spring from the lower classes. The line must be drawn somewhere even in
these days."

"Why not draw it at millionaires then?"

"I should like to. Somethin' will have to be done. If the nobodies
continue to go everywhere the very few somebodies that are left will
soon go nowhere.

"Perhaps they do go nowhere. Perhaps that is why we have never met a
prophet."

Mrs. Merillia looked up sharply, with her wide, cheerful mouth set awry
in a shrewd smile that seemed to say "So ho!" She recognised a strange,
new note of profound, though not arrogant, self-respect in her grandson.

"Prophets," Hennessey added more gently, "have always been inclined to
dwell in the wilderness."

"But where can you find a wilderness in these days?" asked Mrs.
Merillia, still smiling. "Even Hammersmith is becomin' quite a