It is a small room, panelled in dark oak. On the left is an old mantelpiece in white and yellow marble. Beyond the fireplace is a door communicating with Pringle's office. On the right is a recessed window, through which the top of an old grey wall with chevaux-de-frise and foliage above can be seen. At the back, on the right, is a door leading to the staircase. On the left of this door, an architect's cabinet, with narrow drawers for plans, &c. On the walls are plans and architectural drawings, a T-square or two, an office calendar, and sections of mouldings, sundry cards of tiling, ornamental fittings, &c., sent out by firms as advertisements to architects. On the right, by the window, is an architect's drawing-table, with a sheet of drawing-paper, tracing-paper, saucers of colour, and other usual requisites of an architect.
The time is 11.30 on the morning after the preceding acts.
As the curtain rises, the Westminster Clock-tower chimes the half-hour.
Horace is drawing at the table on right.
Horace.
[To himself, looking at watch.] Half-past eleven already!—and I haven't heard from either of them yet! [With some anxiety.] Very odd! Can anything have——? [There is a knock at the door on the left. Horace turns with a slight start as Pringle enters.] Oh, it's you, Pringle! [After a pause.] None the worse after last night, I hope?
Pringle.
[Very solemnly.] I am feeling no ill-effects at present. [Coming to centre of room.] Can I have a few words with you?
Horace.