[_Suppressing his own antipathy._] After all, darling, we--we mustn't forget that they're men and brothers. [_To the others, as the CHIEF SLAVE advances to him and makes elaborate gesticulations._] I think what he means is that dinner is served. Shall we sit down? MRS. FUTVOYE. I don't see any _chairs_. HORACE. No. It--it's such a low table, you see. So we sit on cushions. M--much better fun! PROFESSOR FUTVOYE. [_Grimly._] May I ask if the entire dinner is to be carried out on strictly Arabian principles? HORACE. [_Helplessly._] I--I rather think that _is_ the idea. I hope you don't _mind_, Professor? PROFESSOR FUTVOYE. I am in your hands, sir, in your hands! Sophia! [_He indicates to MRS. FUTVOYE that she is expected to sit down, and seats himself on the right of table with many precautions; HORACE leads MRS. FUTVOYE to a cushion on his right, and establishes SYLVIA on his left, inviting PRINGLE to the place below MRS. FUTVOYE and opposite the PROFESSOR. A slave brings on a large covered golden dish, which he places on the table in front of HORACE._ HORACE. [_With a pathetic attempt to be cheery, as another slave raises the cover._] Ha! Now we shall see what they've _given_ us! [_The expressions of the party indicate that, whatever the food may be, its savour is not exactly appetising._ PROFESSOR FUTVOYE. I should just like to remark that, having lived in the East myself and had considerable experience of native cooking, I expect to be extremely unwell to-morrow. HORACE. Let's hope for the best, Professor, hope for the best! [_Turning to the_ CHIEF SLAVE behind him._] But, I say! You've forgotten the knives and forks. Nobody has any! What _are_ these fellows about? [_The CHIEF SLAVE explains in pantomime that fingers and thumbs are all that is necessary._] Eh? Do _without_ them? Dip into the dish and help ourselves? Oh--if you say we've _got_ to! [_To MRS. FUTVOYE._] Mrs. Futvoye, can I persuade you to--er--have first dip? MRS. FUTVOYE. Really, Horace, I must get my gloves off _first_! [_She removes them._ HORACE. It _does_ seem a little messy. But _quite_ Arabian, you know--quite _Arabian_! MRS. FUTVOYE. [_Vainly trying to reach the dish._] I'm such a long way off! HORACE. Yes. I think we'd better all--er--close up a bit. [_They all work themselves up uncomfortably on their respective cushions nearer the table._ PROFESSOR FUTVOYE.