quarter?" said Malkiel, with pitying amazement.

The Prophet blushed with shame.

"I beg your pardon. Of course--I understand. Pray go on."

"It made for loneliness, sir."

"Naturally."

"Their hours were not our hours. And then the professional colour!
Madame said it was like living among the Sandwich Islanders. And so, to
an extent, it was. My father had left a very tidy bit of money--a
very tidy bit indeed, and we resolved to move. But where? That was the
problem. For I was not as other men. I could not live like them--in the
Berkeley Square."

He smiled with mournful superiority and continued,--

"At least I thought so then, and have done till to-day. Prophets--so my
father believed, and so Madame--must be connected with the suburbs or
with outlying districts. They must not, indeed they cannot, be properly
prophetic within the radius. A central atmosphere would reduce them to
the level of the conjuror or the muscular suggestionist. Malkiel the
First, my father, was born himself in Peckham, and met my mother when
coming through the rye."

He brushed aside a tear that flowed at this almost rustic recollection,
and continued,--