“Very well,” said Madame.  “Let mine be the weary task to wait and watch at home. Fata feminus.  The mystery of the dressed Crab must be unveiled.  Should this mysterious visitant again vouchsafe a prophetic message, a practical prophet must be at hand to receive it.  Jupiter, this gentleman is not practical.  This report”—­she struck the paper on which the Prophet had dotted down his notes—­“is badly written.  The cycloidal curve might have been made by a Board School child.  The deductions drawn—­deductio ad absurdibus—­reveal no talent, none of the prophetic feu de joie at all.  But this mystery of the dressed Crab may mean much.  Jupiter, you will accompany this gentleman back to London and you will assist him practically at the telescope to-night.”

“Very well, my love.  I will risk the personal danger, for your and the children’s—­”

“But—­but really—­” began the Prophet.  “I am very sorry, but—­”

“Madame has spoken, sir,” said Mr. Sagittarius, very solemnly.

“I know she has.  But—­yes, I know there are no buts in your dictionary, Madame, I know there aren’t—­but I have an engagement to-night that I have sworn—­”

“What engagement, sir?” said Mr. Sagittarius, sternly.  “You have sworn to us.  You must know that.”

“I have sworn to almost everyone,” cried the distracted Prophet.  “But this swear—­I mean this oath must be kept before yours.”

“Before ours, sir?”

“It comes on before eleven.  I keep my oath to you after it.  I manage the two, don’t you see?”

“He will see that you manage the two, Mr. Vivian, I can assure you,” said Madame, viciously.  “Won’t you, Jupiter?”

“Certainly, my dear.  What is the oath, sir, that you place before ours?”

“An oath to Miss Minerva,” returned the Prophet, beginning to feel reckless, firm in the conviction that it was henceforth his destiny to be the very sport of Fate.

“Ha!” cried Mr. Sagittarius.  “The double life!”

“Who is Miss Minerva, pray?” said Madame, shooting a very penetrating glance upon her husband.

“Your husband can tell you that,” replied the Prophet, by no means without guile.

“Jupiter,” cried Madame, “what is the meaning of this?  Who is this person?”

Mr. Sagittarius looked exceedingly uncomfortable.

“My dear,” he began, “she is a young fe—­that is, a young wo—­I should say—­”

“A fe!  A wo!  Explain yourself, Jupiter!”

“She is a lady, my love.”

“A lady!  Do I know her?”

“I believe not, my dear.”

“And do you?”

“No, my darling.  That is—­that is—­”

“Yes, I suppose!” said Madame, with a very violent click.

“I can hardly say, Sophronia, that, I can’t indeed.  I have met her, by accident, quite by accident I assure you, once or twice.”

“Where?”

“At Jellybrand’s.  She goes there to fetch letters on the same day as I do.”