Sylvia.
But, father!—you forget that, but for Mr. Pringle——
Professor Futvoye.
No, my dear, I do not. I owe much—very much—to Pringle's good offices—as I shall remember, my dear Pringle, as I shall remember. But I attribute my restoration in some measure to the fact that—from first to last—I was able to preserve perfect calm and self-control.
Pringle.
[With an involuntary glance at the study, in which every article of furniture is smashed.] Quite so! And now I want you—all three—to celebrate your recovery by dining with me this evening at the Savoy. You promised you would last night, Professor. Not in the restaurant—I'll engage a private room.
Professor Futvoye.
No, no—not to-night, my boy. I don't feel up to going out just yet.
Mrs. Futvoye.
Nonsense, Anthony! You can dine out anywhere now, you know—and it will do you good. Thank you, Mr. Pringle, we shall be delighted. Sha'n't we, Sylvia?