"Forgive me," he exclaimed. "It is my fault."

"Oh, no, sir. Not at all," rejoined Malkiel, with icy formality. "Pray
let the fault be mine."

"I will not indeed. But let me explain. My beloved grandmother still
lives, although I cast her horoscope and--"

"Indeed! very remarkable!"

"I mean--not although--but I thought I would cast her horoscope. And I
did so."

"In the square?" asked Malkiel, with quiet, but piercing, irony.

"Yes," said the Prophet, with sudden heat. "Why not?"

Malkiel smiled with an almost paternal pity, as of a thoughtful father
gazing upon the quaint and inappropriate antics of his vacant child.

"Why not, sir--if you prefer it?" he rejoined. "Pray proceed."

The Prophet's face was flushed, either by the "creaming foam," or by
irritation, or by both.

"Surely," he began, in a choking voice, "surely the stars are the
same whether they are looked at from Berkeley Square or from--from--or
from"--he sought passionately for a violent contrast--"from Newington
Butts," he concluded triumphantly.