Perhaps I'd better go and see how he's feeling.
[She crosses, leaving Horace with Sylvia.
Horace.
[To Sylvia.] I can guess how you're feeling about this.
Sylvia.
[Coldly.] Can you? Then it isn't necessary for me to tell you.
Horace.
No, I—this little dinner of mine hasn't turned out quite as we expected, has it?
Sylvia.
I don't know what you expected—I thought it was going to be so delightful!... How could you be so foolish?