"I have not the pleasure to have ever observed my guides from the
neighbourhood of the Butts," said Malkiel, serenely. "But pray
proceed, sir. I am all attention. You cast your honoured grandmother's
horoscope--in the Berkeley Square."

The Prophet seized his glass, but some remnants of his tattered
self-control still clung to him, and he put it down without seeking
further madness from its contents.

"I did," he said firmly, even obstinately. "And I discovered--I say
discovered that she was going to have an accident while on an evening
expedition--or jaunt as you might perhaps prefer to call it."

"I should certainly call it so--in the case of a lady who was an
honoured grandmother," said Malkiel the Second in assent.

"Well, Malkiel the Second," continued the Prophet, recovering his
composure as he approached his _coup_, "my grandmother did have an
accident, as I foretold."

"Did she have it in the square, sir?" asked Malkiel.

"And what if she did?" cried the Prophet with considerable testiness.

He was beginning to conceive a perfect hatred of the admirable
neighbourhood, which he had loved so well.

"I merely ask for information, sir."