tion of _chef d'orchestre_.
Immediately beyond this shrine of music the Prophet perceived a Moorish
nook containing a British buffet, and, in quite the most Moorish corner
of this nook, seated upon a divan that would have been at home in
Marakesh, he caught sight of Miss Minerva in company with a thin,
fatigued and wispy lady in a very long vermilion gown, and an extremely
small gentleman--apparently of the Hebrew persuasion--who was smartly
dressed, wore white gloves and a buttonhole, and indulged in a great
deal of florid gesticulation while talking with abnormal vivacity. Miss
Minerva, who was playing quietly with a lemon ice, looked even more
sensible than usual, the Prophet thought, in her simple white frock. She
seemed to be quite at home and perfectly happy with her silly friends,
but, as soon as she saw him hovering anxiously to the left of the
guitars, she beckoned to him eagerly, and he hurried forward.

"Oh, Mr. Vivian, I'm so glad you've come! Let me introduce you to my
great friend Eureka"--the lady in vermilion bowed absent-mindedly, and
rolled her huge brown eyes wearily at the Prophet--"and to Mr. Briskin
Moses."

The little gentleman made a stage reverence and fluttered his small
hands airily.

"Pretty sight, pretty sight!" he said in a quick and impudent voice.
"All these little dears enjoying themselves so innocently. Mother
Bridgeman's chickens, I call them. But it's impossible to count them,
even after they're hatched. Cheese it!"

The final imperative was flung demurely at a mighty footman, who just
then tried to impound Mr. Moses's not quite finished brandy-and-soda.

"Sir?" said the mighty footman.

"Cheese it!" cried Mr. Moses, making a gesture of tragic repugnance in
the direction of the footman.

The mighty footman cheesed it with dignity, and afterwards, in the
servants' hall, spoke very bitterly of Israel.

The Prophet was extremely anxious to get a word alone with Miss Minerva.
Indeed, it was really important that he should warn her of Sir Tiglath's
approach, but he could find no opportunity of doing so, for Mr. Moses,
who was not afflicted with diffidence, rapidly continued, in a slightly
affected and tripping cockney voice,--

"Mother Bridgeman's a dear one! God bless her for a pretty soul! She'd
be sublime in musical comedy--the black satin society lady, you know,
who makes the aristocratic relief,--

"'I'm a Dowager Duchess, and everyone knows I'm a lady right down to
the t