[With a fatuous smile of approval.] Excellent indeed!
Horace.
[Turning on him.] Perhaps, when I tell you that the company included the young lady I was engaged to marry—and her father and mother, and that they put the most unfavourable construction on the houri's behaviour, it may begin to dawn, even on you, that you might have been more tactful! I've lost Sylvia now—and all through you and your confounded gazelle!
Fakrash.
[Pulling his beard, and appearing slightly disconcerted.] Verily thy fortune is unlucky! But dismiss uneasiness, for to remedy this mischance will be the simplest thing possible.
Horace.
[More mildly.] Oh, if you'll do that! But how?
Fakrash.
[Standing in centre of hall.] By procuring thee another bride of far greater beauty and accomplishments.
Horace.