Then send for him and insist on his repairing what he's done here.
Sylvia.
[Eagerly, down on right.] Yes, yes. Send for him, Horace, send for him!
Horace.
[Heavily.] I'm afraid it wouldn't be any use.
Pringle.
Nonsense! You could make him come if you chose!
Horace.
I tell you I can't. I don't even know where he is—or if he hasn't gone off to Arabia again——
Mrs. Futvoye.