[Coming forward.] Here you are, eh, old fellow?
[The slaves go out.
Pringle.
[Staring after the slaves.] Yes, here I am. [Reproachfully, as he observes Horace's costume.] You might have told me it was a fancy-dress affair.
Horace.
It isn't. I—I'll explain presently.
Pringle.
[Sees the Futvoyes, and crosses to them.] How do you do again, Miss Sylvia? How are you, Mrs. Futvoye? We meet sooner than we expected, eh? [Turning to the Professor.] Well, Professor, I suppose you weren't surprised at finding our good host in—[he looks round the hall again]—this exceedingly snug little sanctum? I must confess I am.
Professor Futvoye.
My dear fellow, you can't be more surprised than we are!