Sylvia.
[Petulantly.] Oh, don't quote that now, Mr. Pringle! It is so stale!
Pringle.
[With wounded dignity.] It may be stale—but it's Shakespeare! And I can only conclude that—even in the twentieth century—magic is not the lost art I had always imagined it.
Sylvia.
[Turning to him with more interest.] Then you believe now that Horace did find a Jinnee in that brass bottle?
Pringle.
[Rising.] No, no. I don't go as far as that.
Sylvia.
How far do you go?