[Blankly.] Oh! [He walks down to window.] I congratulate you; er—heartily, of course. [Looking out of window.] And—and when do you think of being married?
Horace.
It's no use thinking of that, at present. Not till the Professor takes a rosier view of my prospects, at all events. But if, like a good fellow, you could put in a word for me, it would give me no end of a leg up!
Pringle.
[Dully, with his face still averted.] You don't seem to realise what you're asking!
Horace.
[Suddenly understanding, with compunction.] My dear chap! [He puts both his hands on Pringle's shoulders.] What a selfish brute I've been not to see! I am sorry!
Pringle.
[Stiffly.] As a matter of fact, I'd quite made up my mind to propose to her—as soon as I'd got those country jobs off my mind. And now I find you've cut in before me!
Horace.