Mrs. Futvoye.
[To Horace.] Then—are you responsible for this?
Horace.
Indirectly. Only indirectly. I couldn't prevent Fakrash making an ass of himself.
Mrs. Futvoye.
You might have prevented his making a mule of my husband!
[Another plunge and crash of glass from behind.
Horace.
I wasn't consulted! But I will say this for old Fakrash—nobody's readier to repair a blunder when once it's pointed out to him. He'll do anything for me.
Mrs. Futvoye.