_When the curtain rises there is no one in the room. A knock is heard at the door on right of fireplace. Then, after a pause, MRS. RAPKIN enters. She is a pleasant, neatly dressed, elderly woman, of the respectable landlady class. She wears a cooking-apron and her sleeves are turned up. She looks round the room, and turns to the door as PROFESSOR FUTVOYE appears._ MRS. RAPKIN. Mr. Ventimore don't seem to be in, after all, sir. Unless he's in his bedroom. [_She comes down to the door on right, as PROFESSOR, MRS., and MISS FUTVOYE enter from the other door. PROFESSOR FUTVOYE is elderly and crabbed; his wife, grey-haired and placid, bearing with him as with an elderly and rather troublesome child; SYLVIA FUTVOYE, their daughter, is a pretty and attractive girl of about twenty. MRS. RAPKIN knocks at the bedroom door._] Mr. Ventimore! A gentleman and two ladies to see you. [_She opens the door--then, to the PROFESSOR._] No, sir, he hasn't come in yet--but he won't be long now. PROFESSOR FUTVOYE. [_By the table._] Are you _sure_ of that, ma'am? MRS. RAPKIN. Well, sir, he said as how he'd be in early, to make sure as everythink was as it _should_ be. [_In a burst of confidence._] If you _must_ know, he's expecting company to dinner this evening. [_SYLVIA has moved to the window; MRS. FUTVOYE stands by the table._ PROFESSOR FUTVOYE. [_Placing his hat and stick on a small shelf on the left of fireplace, and standing by table._] I'm aware of that, ma'am. We happen to be the company Mr. Ventimore is expecting. Don't let us keep you from your cooking. MRS. RAPKIN. [_With another burst of confidence._] Well, sir, to tell you the truth, I '_ave_ a good deal on my 'ands just now. [_She goes out by door at back._ SYLVIA. [_After moving about and inspecting the pictures._] I rather like Horace's rooms. PROFESSOR FUTVOYE. [_Irritably._] I wish he'd manage to be _in_ 'em! I fully expected he'd be back by this time. _Most_ annoying! MRS. FUTVOYE. [_Resignedly._] I _thought_ you were bringing us all this way for nothing! And when you must be quite exhausted enough as it is, after lecturing all the afternoon! PROFESSOR FUTVOYE. I'm not in the least exhausted, Sophia; not in the least! MRS. FUTVOYE. Well, Anthony, if _you're_ not, Sylvia and I are! [_She sits in armchair by the window._] But _why_ you couldn't wait till eight o'clock to know how Horace got on at that sale I _can't_ think! PROFESSOR FUTVOYE. He ought to have been back _long_ ago! I can see _no_ excuse for his dawdling like this. None whatever! [_He sits on right of table._ SYLVIA.