[Carelessly.] Oh, you said you'd been away, or working hard, or something, didn't you? I forgive you. And so you are dining with Mr. and Mrs. Wackerbath, too?
Pringle.
[Stiffly.] With Mr. and Mrs.——! Pardon me, but I am under the impression that I am to have the honour of entertaining you.
Sylvia.
[Rising; Horace rising as she does.] Entertaining us! Why, what could have made you think that?
Pringle.
[In a low voice.] And you can throw me over like this! After all I've done for you? Oh, Sylvia!
Sylvia.
[Coldly.] I don't understand you a bit this evening, Mr. Pringle. But there may have been some mistake. I will go and ask mother about it.
[She crosses to behind the sofa on which Mrs. Futvoye is seated, and talks to her in dumb show, Mrs. Futvoye appearing surprised by what she hears. Meanwhile.