Mrs. Futvoye.

Unless you can say how and when my husband may expect to see an end of all this——

Horace.

I shall make old Fakrash see to that.

Mrs. Futvoye.

Make old Fakrash see to it?

Horace.

The Jinnee I let out of that brass bottle. I told you all about him last night. You didn't believe me then.

Pringle.

None of us did. But I'm afraid, Mrs. Futvoye, we've got to believe now.