Horace.
They were rather beastly, weren't they?
[A slave takes the Professor's hands with great respect, and inserts them into the bowl.
Professor Futvoye.
As I was saying, I infer from that, and the circumstance that your attendant has again attempted to wash my hands, that the—ah—banquet has come to an end. Is that so?
Horace.
[Miserably.] I hope so! I mean—I think so.
Professor Futvoye.
Then, as I have been suffering agonies of cramp from having had to sit for an hour on a cushion with my legs crossed, I should be glad, with your permission, to stretch them again.
Horace.