[_The music stops; all, except the PRINCIPAL DANCER, who remains standing and smiling at HORACE, fall on their hands and faces in a line across the stage._ HORACE. It was a mistake. But I'll get rid of them! [_He rises and goes towards the PRINCIPAL DANCER._] It's charming--charming--but that will _do_, you know. You can go away now. You can _all_ of you go away! [_The PRINCIPAL DANCING GIRL, with a swift, sudden movement, throws herself at his feet and embraces his knees; SYLVIA starts up indignantly. The PROFESSOR, MRS. FUTVOYE, and PRINGLE rise also._ PRINCIPAL DANCING GIRL. [_In Arabic, in a tone of adoring submission._] Yah Sîdî! Yah noor ainy! Yah nass al Kalbi Sîdî! HORACE. [_To the others._] She is a little hysterical, that's all--the artistic temperament. [_As he succeeds in freeing himself._] I don't know what on earth she's talking about! I _fancy_ she says she's feeling seedy. PROFESSOR FUTVOYE. [_Who has come down on the right._] "Sîdî"--as you may well know--is the ordinary Arabic word for "Master," and, if I follow her correctly, she is calling you her Protector, the Light of her Eyes, and the Vital Spirit of her Heart! [_The PRINCIPAL DANCING GIRL has fallen on her hands and face in front of the others._ SYLVIA. Oh! So _this_ is what you were trying to confess to me! HORACE. She's quite _mistaken_, you know. _I'm_ not the light of her eyes, I've never seen her before in all my life! SYLVIA. You think I believe _that_! [_She rushes across to MRS. FUTVOYE._] Oh, mother--mother! HORACE. Professor, _you_ know Arabic. Couldn't you get these people to understand that they aren't wanted? PROFESSOR FUTVOYE. [_Coming forward._] I intend to. [_In Arabic._] Eerga dugghery gowan illa bait bettah Harrood! [_As he speaks all the dancing girls raise their heads in horror, then rise screaming and holding their hands to their ears, and rush out through arches, followed by the musicians. The moment they disappear through the arches all is silent._ PRINGLE. [_Coming down to centre._] They weren't long in taking _your_ hint, Professor. What _did_ you say to them? PROFESSOR FUTVOYE. [_Rather puzzled._] I merely told them, in the best Arabic I could command, to go back to Harrod's at once. MRS. FUTVOYE. I am quite sure they cannot have come from _Harrod's_! HORACE. You're perfectly right, Mrs. Futvoye. They _didn't_. PROFESSOR FUTVOYE.