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Updated: June 25, 2025
His chamber was on the same floor as Mrs. Merillia's, and, as he neared her door, he rose instinctively upon his toes and, grasping the tails of his evening coat firmly with his left hand, to prevent any chance rustling of their satin lining, and bearing his George the Third silver candlestick steadily to control any clattering of its extinguisher, he moved on rather like a thief who was also a trained ballerina, holding his breath and pressing his lips together in a supreme agony of dumbness.
Fancy, rang it, and dropped half fainting into a chair. Mrs. Fancy woke from her second dream just as Malkiel, closely followed by the now shattered Gustavus, reached the hall. "Hide me! Hide me!" whispered Malkiel. "In here!" And he darted into the servants' quarters, leaving Gustavus on the mat. Mrs. Merillia's other bell now pealed shrilly downstairs.
She was dressed in mouse-coloured grenadine, and was seated in a small chamber opening out of Mrs. Merillia's bedroom, engaged in what she called "plain tatting." "Fancy," said the Prophet, entering and closing the door carefully, "you know me well." "From the bottle, sir," she answered, darting the bone implements in and out. "Have you ever thought has it ever occurred to you "
Gustavus paused and pulled himself together. He was by nature a fairly intrepid youth, and moreover, he had recently made a close study of Carlyle's Heroes and Hero-worship, which greatly impressed him. He therefore resolved in this moment of peril to acquit himself in similar circumstances, and he remounted the stairs and reached Mrs. Merillia's door just as Mrs.
Merillia's cook was wont to sit while directing her subordinates at the basting machine. Into this he sank palpitating, and for a moment remained undisturbed. Then, to his horror, he heard in the adjoining room the strident voice of his loved and honoured wife apparently carrying on a decidedly vivacious argument with some person unknown. He bounded up.
"Don't!" at last cried a young voice. "Don't, Sir Tiglath!" A peal of laughter followed the remark, of that laughter which is loud and yet entirely without the saving grace of merriment, a mere sudden demonstration of hysteria. "Oh, Sir Tiglath don't!" A second laugh joined the first and rang up with it, older, but also hysterical Mrs. Merillia's. "No, no please don't, Sir Tig Tig "
Kindly let me pass!" And, breaking from the lady's anxious grasp, the Prophet rushed into the hall just as Gustavus appeared, descending the front stairs from the landing before Mrs. Merillia's door, where he had been in close conference with Mrs. Fancy. "Stand back, Gustavus," said the Prophet. "Sir!" "Stand back!" "But, sir, there is someone " "I know there is.
Merillia's own chef, and sleeping in a cot hung with sunny silk that might have curtained Venus or have shaken about Aurora as she rose in the first morning of the world. From her he had acquired the alphabet and many a ginger-nut and decorative bonbon. And from her, too, he had set forth, with tears, in his new Eton jacket and broad white collar, to go to Mr.
Merillia's most comfortable home for at least fifteen years, he had actually never once penetrated beyond this door. It had never occurred to him to do so. Often he had approached it. Quite recently, when Mrs. Fancy Quinglet had broken into tears on the refusal of Sir Tiglath Butt to burst according to her prediction, he had handed her to this very portal.
"The first is is grannie, when were you removed from from the bottle?" A very delicate flush crept into Mrs. Merillia's charming cheeks. "The bottle, Hennessey! Never, never!" she said, with a sort of pathetic indignation. "How could you suppose I the bottle " Her pretty old voice died away. "Answered, darling grannie, answered!" ejaculated the Prophet. "Please please don't!
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