Professor Futvoye.
Mad? No, no—only a little out of sorts. You've been working rather too hard, you know, that's all! All you want is a thorough rest.
Mr. Wackerbath.
Yes, yes. A sea-voyage, now. Trip round the world. Set you up in no time!
Mrs. Futvoye.
[Approaching Pringle.] Do go round the world, Mr. Pringle. You'll come back cured of all these fancies!
Pringle.
[Reeling back a step or two.] Fancies!... Ventimore! [Horace goes to him, while the others form a group on the left and discuss Pringle's case with pitying concern.] I've been a fool—I see that now. They're not pretending—they really have forgotten!
Horace.
Completely. Fakrash hasn't foozled that—for a wonder! I ought to have included you; but—well, one can't think of everything—I forgot. I can only say I'm sorry.