[Rising, overjoyed.] You will? Oh, I must tell them! [Rushing to the sliding-doors and slightly opening them.] Mother, mother! I've news—good news!
Mrs. Futvoye.
[Looking cautiously through the opening.] What is it, Sylvia? [Sees Horace with displeasure.] Mr. Ventimore! You here! [Stamping heard from study. Mrs. Futvoye turns and speaks over her shoulder.] Keep back, Anthony! Keep back! Remember—you're not fit to be seen, as you are!
Sylvia.
[Happily.] It doesn't matter, mother. They both know. And Horace is going to make father all right again.
Mrs. Futvoye.
Oh, in that case——
[She pushes the sofa aside and comes through, leaving the sliding-doors open, and pulling the curtains back, but replacing the sofa.
Horace.
Mrs. Futvoye, I've something to say which I think will cheer the Professor up a bit.