Confound you, do you suppose I don't know how many people I've asked? Have the table altered at once, or I shall send for the manager.
First Waiter.
[With a shrug.] Bien, m'sieu! You tell me there is a mistake—that is enoff—I alter it.
[He gives orders in an undertone to the Second Waiter, who removes two of the chairs to the balcony, and takes off the corresponding plates, glasses, &c.
Pringle.
[As he comes down to the left.] I sha'n't pay for more than four—mind that! [To himself, as he sits on the couch down left.] It's going to cost me quite enough without that, I can see! [The Westminster Clock-tower is heard striking the quarter; Pringle takes out his watch.] Eight-fifteen! And I asked them for eight sharp. Very singular—the Professor's generally so punctual! [He rises eagerly as the door on right above arch opens.] Ah, here they are! [Horace enters and comes down; Pringle draws himself up stiffly.] What, you, Ventimore! I scarcely expected to see you here to-night.
[The two Waiters go out; the waltz music stops.
Horace.
[Coming down to couch by fireplace.] Didn't you? I rather thought I might run across you, somehow.
Pringle.