Pringle.
It's the same here, I can assure you. I don't understand our host's partiality for Arab cookery. And the wine! [With a reminiscent shudder.] Did you try the wine?
Professor Futvoye.
I did. It must have been kept in a goat-skin for years! And yet he must have spent a perfectly scandalous amount on this preposterous banquet of his!
Pringle.
A small fortune! Ah, well—I suppose he feels entitled to indulge in these costly fancies—now.
Professor Futvoye.
He's no business to—just after he's engaged to my daughter!
Pringle.
Ah! It's a thousand pities. Still—he may give up some of this magnificence, when he's married.