Professor Futvoye.
[Resentfully.] It seems I shall have to wait, Sophia—but I'm tired of waiting here. [He goes to get his hat and stick.] And evidently he doesn't intend to——
[Turns, as the door opens and Horace Ventimore comes in briskly. Horace is a pleasant-looking young man, with a cheery and rather boyish manner; he comes down and greets the Futvoyes without seeing Pringle for the moment; Sylvia has risen, delighted at his arrival.
Horace.
I say! This is jolly! [Shaking hands.] Wish I'd known you were coming on here after the lecture. [Pringle rises, and waits stiffly for recognition.] Warm work, wasn't it, Professor, lecturing on an afternoon like this? Do sit down. [Looks at table.] Haven't they given you any tea?
Professor Futvoye.
[Irritably.] No, no, no. We want no tea. It's too late for tea. We merely looked in on our way home to——
Horace.
[Sees Pringle.] And Pringle, too! [Pats him on shoulder.] How are you, old fellow? You been at the lecture, too?
Pringle.