The Prophet of Berkeley Square | Page 8

said the Prophet. "Mrs. Merillia must not be dropped. Remember that."
"Not be dropped, sir--no."
The chair ran forward on its amicable castors as a carriage was heard to stop outside. Mr. Ferdinand flung open the portal, and the Prophet glided out excitedly upon the step.
"Well?" he cried, "well?"
A footman, in a long drab coat with red facings, was preparing to get off the box of a smart brougham, but before he could reach the pavement, a charming head, covered with a lace cap, was thrust out of the window, and a musical and almost girlish voice cried,--
"All nonsense, Hennessey, all rubbish! Saturn don't know what he's talkin' about. Look!"
The carriage door was vivaciously opened from the inside and a delightful little old lady, dressed in brown silk, with a long, cheerful pointed nose, rosy cheeks, and chestnut hair--that almost mightn't have been a wig in certain lights--prepared to leap forth without waiting for the reverent assistance that the Prophet, flanked by Mr. Ferdinand and Gustavus, was in waiting to afford.
As she jumped, she began to cry, "Not much wrong with me, is there, Hennessey?" but before the sentence was completed she had caught her neat foot in her brown silk gown, had stumbled from the step of the carriage to the pavement, had twisted her pretty ankle, had reeled and almost fallen, had been caught by the Prophet and Mr. Ferdinand, borne tenderly into the hall, and placed in the armchair which the terrified Gustavus, with almost enraged ardour, drove forward to receive her. As she sank down in it, helpless, Mrs. Merillia exclaimed, with unabated vivacity,--
"It's happened, Hennessey, it's happened! But it was my own doin' and yours. You shouldn't have prophesied at your age, and I shouldn't have jumped at mine.
"Dearest grannie!" cried the Prophet, on his knees beside her, "how grieved, how shocked I am! Is it--is it--"
"Sprained, Hennessey?"
He nodded. Mechanically Mr. Ferdinand nodded. Gustavus let his powdered head drop, too, in imitation of his superiors.
"I'll tell you in the drawin'--room."
She placed her pretty, mittened hands upon the arms of the chair, and gave a little wriggle, trying to get up. Then she cried out musically,--
"No, I must be carried up. Mr. Ferdinand!"
"Ma'am!"
"Is Gustavus to be trusted?"
"Trusted, ma'am!" cried Mr. Ferdinand, looking at Gustavus, who had assumed an expression of pale and pathetic dignity. "Trusted--a London footman! Oh, ma'am!"
His voice failed. He choked and began to rummage in the pocket of his black tail coat for his perfumed handkerchief.
"T'st, t'st! I mean his arms," said Mrs. Merillia, patting her delicate hands quickly on the chair. "Can he carry me?"
The countenance of Mr. Ferdinand cleared, while Gustavus eagerly extended his right arm, bent it sharply, and allowed his magnificent biceps to rise up in sudden majesty. Mrs. Merillia was reassured.
"Hoist me to the drawin'-room, then," she said. "Hennessey, will you walk behind?"
The procession was formed, and the little old lady proceeded by a succession of jerks to the upper floor, her silk gown rustling against the balusters, and her tiny feet dangling loosely in mid-air, while her long and elegant head nodded each time Mr. Ferdinand and Gustavus pranced carefully sideways to a higher step. The Prophet followed solicitously behind, with hands outstretched to check any dangerous recoil. His face was very grave, but not entirely unhappy.
"Set me down by the fire," said Mrs. Merillia, when she found herself being smoothly propelled through the atmosphere of the drawing-room.
The menials obeyed with breathless assiduity.
"And now bring me a sandwich, a glass of toast and water and a fan, if you please. Yes, put the footstool well under me."
"Dearest grannie," said the Prophet, when the men had retired, "are you in great pain?"
"No, Hennessey. Are you?"
Mrs. Merillia's green eyes twinkled.
"I!"
"Yes, at my accident. For my ankle is sprained, I'm almost sure, and I shall have to lie up presently in wet bandages. Tell me, are you really pained that I have had the accident you prophesied?"
She glanced from her grandson to the telescope that pointed toward the stars and back again.
"I am, indeed, sincerely grieved," the Prophet answered with genuine emotion.
"Yes. But if I'd jumped out all right, and was sittin' here now in a perfect condition of health, you'd have been sincerely grieved, too."
"I hope not, grannie," said the Prophet. But he looked meditative.
Mr. Ferdinand brought the toast and water, the sandwich and the fan. When he had trodden across the carpet out of the room Mrs. Merillia continued,--
"Hennessey, you see where this prophetic business is leadin' you. It has made you charmed at my accident. Yes, it has."
She spoke without any pathos, humorously indeed, in a bright tone full of common sense. And she nodded at him over her toast and water with a chaffing, demure smile. But the Prophet winced and put his hand to his thick brown