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! PRINGLE. [_With satisfaction._] You don't mean it! [_Turning to HORACE, who is on the other side of the hall, talking to MRS. FUTVOYE and SYLVIA_.] Then you've only just got this place finished, eh, Ventimore? HORACE. That's all, Pringle. PROFESSOR FUTVOYE. To build and decorate such a place as this must have cost a very considerable sum of money. HORACE. You'd _think_ so, wouldn't you? But it _didn't_. PROFESSOR FUTVOYE. [_Coming towards him._] And that costume you're wearing, those negroes in rich liveries, all this senseless profusion and display we see around us--are you going to tell me _they_ haven't cost you anything? HORACE. I--I was going to explain about that. It's a most extraordinary thing, but--well, you remember that old brass bottle I showed you this afternoon? PROFESSOR FUTVOYE. Remember it? Of course I remember it! But what of it, sir, what _of_ it? HORACE. Why--er--in a manner of speaking--everything you see here has--er--more or less--come out of that bottle---- PROFESSOR FUTVOYE. [_Infuriated._] That is enough, sir, that is enough! You choose to give me a frivolous answer! I will not submit to be treated like this--I would rather leave the house at once. And I _will_, too! [_He makes a movement towards the arch. SYLVIA and her mother look on in distress, and PRINGLE with secret gratification._ HORACE. No, but I haven't finished! You see, it was like this: When I _opened_ the bottle---- PROFESSOR FUTVOYE. [_Savagely._] Tchah! As you seem unable to realise that this is not a fit time for fooling, I will not stay here to be trifled with. Sophia, Sylvia, we must find some other place to dine in! SYLVIA. [_Going to HORACE, and speaking in a rapid undertone._] Horace! Can't you see? He _means_ it. You _must_ be serious--or else----! HORACE. [_To her._] Yes, I see.... Professor, I'm sorry. I--I never thought you'd be annoyed. All I _really_ meant by--by my feeble little joke was to tell you--in a sort of figurative way, do you see?--that--that my luck has turned at last. THE OTHERS. [_Together._] Turned? _How_ turned? What do you mean? HORACE. Well, I've got a client. THE OTHERS. [_As before._] A client? How? Where? When? HORACE. Just after you all left this afternoon. A clinking good client, too! He's asked me to build him a big country-house, and my commission can't come to less than seven or eight thousand pounds.