[The Musicians seem to treat this as an encouragement, for they play with more vigour than ever; then, as they reach the climax, the music changes to slower strains, in which some sort of air is recognisable, and a troop of Oriental Dancing Girls come writhing and posturing in from the arches on right and left of the centre arch. Horace recoils in horror, and collapses on the divan by Sylvia's side.
Mrs. Futvoye.
[Making her voice carry above the music.] And do these young persons come from Earl's Court, too?
Horace.
[Wildly.] No! Oh, dear no! They come from—from Harrod's. The Entertainment Department, don't you know!
[He sits paralysed as the Principal Dancing Girl suddenly floats down from the central arch, and executes a slow and sinuous Oriental dance in the middle of the other performers. The Professor and his wife exchange scandalised comments, and Pringle endeavours to look shocked and grieved.
Horace.
[As the Principal Dancing Girl has glided down opposite him, and stands posturing, with her eyes fixed on his face; to Sylvia.] I—I don't think she's bad.
Sylvia.
[Coldly.] Don't you? I'm perfectly sure she is!