Sylvia.
[At door.] Wait! [Opens door and listens.] There's Horace coming upstairs! I'm sure it's his step!
Professor Futvoye.
[Stops by table with relief.] At last! Now I shall know!
[Spencer Pringle enters. He is a smug, self-satisfied looking man of about thirty-five, smooth-shaven, except for small side-whiskers. He is in a light tweed suit, having just come up from the country.
Sylvia.
[Repressing her disappointment.] Mr. Pringle!
Pringle.
[In doorway.] Miss Sylvia! Mrs. Futvoye! [Shaking hands with the Professor.] Professor! Well! this is unexpected.
[Sylvia comes down to right.