Mrs. Futvoye.
I am only too anxious to go. [To Sylvia.] Come, darling.
[She moves towards arch on right.
Sylvia.
[In sudden alarm.] Mother! Not with all those horrid dancing-girls and things! They're in there!
Mrs. Futvoye.
[At arch.] Trust me to deal with them!
[She goes out with Sylvia.
Professor Futvoye.