I'm afraid they're not at all likely to be familiar with it. [_The MUSICIANS begin once more, and MRS. FUTVOYE retreats hastily to the divan, as they sing and play for a few bars in hideous cacophony._ PRINGLE. [_As they stop once more._] Vocal as _well_ as instrumental, eh? Are they going to give us any _more_ little things like that, Ventimore? HORACE. No. Not if I know it! They've _done_ now! [_At this the music starts again, louder and more discordant than ever._ PROFESSOR FUTVOYE. [_Springing to his feet in a fury, and shouting._] Ventimore! You _must_ put a stop to this abominable din! Do you hear? I can't and won't put up with it! HORACE. [_Rising, and going to the MUSICIANS._] Here, you chaps! Hi! That's enough! [_He claps his hands._] Get out! Get _out_! [_The MUSICIANS seem to treat this as an encouragement, for they play with more vigour than ever; then, as they reach the climax, the music changes to slower strains, in which some sort of air is recognisable, and a troop of ORIENTAL DANCING GIRLS come writhing and posturing in from the arches on right and left of the centre arch. HORACE recoils in horror, and collapses on the divan by SYLVIA'S side._ MRS. FUTVOYE. [_Making her voice carry above the music._] And do these young persons come from Earl's Court, _too_? HORACE. [_Wildly._] No! Oh, _dear_ no! _They_ come from--from Harrod's. The Entertainment Department, don't you know! [_He sits paralysed as the PRINCIPAL DANCING GIRL suddenly floats down from the central arch, and executes a slow and sinuous Oriental dance in the middle of the other performers. The PROFESSOR and his wife exchange scandalised comments, and PRINGLE endeavours to look shocked and grieved._ HORACE. [_As the PRINCIPAL DANCING GIRL has glided down opposite him, and stands posturing, with her eyes fixed on his face; to SYLVIA._] I--I don't think she's _bad_. SYLVIA. [_Coldly._] Don't you? I'm perfectly _sure_ she is! HORACE. No, no. She--she's a _lady_ and all that. They _all_ are. Highly respectable girls! They only give their dances at _private_ parties. SYLVIA. I don't think you need have engaged them for _yours_! _Really_, Horace!