I'm coming to that, if you'll only have a little patience. Naturally, he was grateful to me for letting him out, and, in a weak moment, I--I blurted out that you were all coming to dinner here to-night. And what does the old idiot do but transform my rooms into these halls, and provide the whole entertainment himself! And--as might be expected--it was pretty rotten! [_He sinks on the divan on right in despair, as he sees the general incredulity._ PROFESSOR FUTVOYE. Ha! And you seriously expect us to believe this cock-and-bull story as an explanation--unsupported by any kind of proof? HORACE. Not _unsupported_, Professor! How about these halls? PROFESSOR FUTVOYE. _They_ are only evidence of your unbridled extravagance, sir! Where is this precious Jinnee you talk about? Produce him--let me see him with my own eyes, and I might--but, bah! you won't venture to accept that challenge, I'm sure of that! [_He crosses to MRS. FUTVOYE and PRINGLE._ HORACE. It's unfortunate--but Fakrash has--er--left the country. I don't expect him back for some time--if at all. PROFESSOR FUTVOYE. Nor I, sir, nor _I_! Sophia, you and Sylvia had better go to the vestibule and get your things on. MRS. FUTVOYE. I am only too anxious to go. [_To SYLVIA._] Come, darling. [_She moves towards arch on right._ SYLVIA. [_In sudden alarm._] Mother! _Not_ with all those horrid dancing-girls and things! _They're_ in there! MRS. FUTVOYE. [_At arch._] Trust me to deal with _them_! [_She goes out with SYLVIA._ PROFESSOR FUTVOYE. [_Going up and calling after them._] Make haste, Sophia! We must walk till we get a cab, that's all! HORACE. [_Who has risen._] Professor, don't go yet. I've just remembered. If you'll only wait a moment, I believe I can bring you something to prove I've been telling the simple truth. [_He goes out by lower arch on right._ PROFESSOR FUTVOYE. [_Approaching PRINGLE._] "Prove he's been telling the truth!" You heard _that_, Pringle? Did you ever hear such bare-faced impudence in all your life? PRINGLE. [_Virtuously._] Never, Professor, never! I _quite_ share your indignation. Perhaps I may be allowed to accompany you? I am going your way. PROFESSOR FUTVOYE. Do so, Pringle; do so, my dear fellow. As we may have to walk some distance, my daughter will be glad of your escort. [_As MRS. FUTVOYE and SYLVIA appear from arch up right._] Ah, they're ready, I see. Go and get your coat on and bring mine, and we'll leave at once. PRINGLE. [_With alacrity, as he goes up._] By all means, Professor! I won't be a minute. [_He goes out by the arch up right._ HORACE.