[From below fireplace, to Horace.] You don't seem to be managing him very well so far.
Pringle.
[Coming down to Horace.] You gave us to understand that he would do anything for you.
Horace.
So he will, generally—but not just now. [Crossing to Mrs. Futvoye and Sylvia, while Fakrash remains apart, with his back to the others.] He's suddenly turned nasty—I've no idea why. But I shall bring him round—in time.
Mrs. Futvoye.
It's my husband who has to be brought round—and there's no time to be lost!
Horace.
I know—but if I press Fakrash in his present mood, I shall only make matters worse.
Pringle.