Professor Futvoye.
Eh, what? [He takes the cap.] So far as I can tell by feeling it, there does seem to be—but what if there is—what if there is?
Horace.
Well, it might refer to a Jinnee having been bottled up by Solomon, don't you know.
Professor Futvoye.
Bah!—but no matter. [He slips the cap into his tail-coat pocket.] Whatever it is, I will examine this inscription—after breakfast to-morrow morning. [Triumphantly.] And I shall decipher it, sir,—you may depend upon that! [To Pringle, who returns with coat and helps him into it.] Thank you, my boy, thank you. Now, Sophia,—if you are ready!
Mrs. Futvoye.
I am only waiting for you, Anthony. [Frostily, to Horace.] Mr. Ventimore, I will wish you good-night.
[She goes out by central arch.
Pringle.