[Darkly.] Nay—not yet.
[Mrs. Futvoye enters from the hall, carrying a glass goblet full of water.
Mrs. Futvoye.
[To Fakrash.] I've brought it in this, but if you prefer a breakfast-cup——
The Mule.
[Impatiently.] What the devil does it matter? Let him get on with it!
Fakrash.
[As he meets Mrs. Futvoye and takes the goblet from her.] This will serve. [He goes up to The Mule and sprinkles some drops of water on its head.] Quit this form and return unto the form in which thou wert!
[The Mule fades into the Professor, who appears gasping and in an extremely bad temper; Pringle shifts the sofa to let him pass; Fakrash retires to near the window.