[In Arabic, in a tone of adoring submission.] Yah Sîdî! Yah noor ainy! Yah nass al Kalbi Sîdî!
Horace.
[To the others.] She is a little hysterical, that's all—the artistic temperament. [As he succeeds in freeing himself.] I don't know what on earth she's talking about! I fancy she says she's feeling seedy.
Professor Futvoye.
[Who has come down on the right.] "Sîdî"—as you may well know—is the ordinary Arabic word for "Master," and, if I follow her correctly, she is calling you her Protector, the Light of her Eyes, and the Vital Spirit of her Heart!
[The Principal Dancing Girl has fallen on her hands and face in front of the others.
Sylvia.
Oh! So this is what you were trying to confess to me!
Horace.
She's quite mistaken, you know. I'm not the light of her eyes, I've never seen her before in all my life!