[_She goes into study, closing the sliding-doors after her. A slight pause. SYLVIA pushes the sofa back against the sliding-doors and seats herself on it._ PRINGLE. [_Approaching the sofa, with sympathy._] I really had no idea your father was--was as bad as all _this_. SYLVIA. [_On her guard._] People _do_ kick, Mr. Pringle, when they have gout--in both legs. PRINGLE. _Do_ they? I should hardly have thought--particularly--[_with meaning_]--if they've gout in--all four. SYLVIA. [_Shrinking back._] "All four!" Then--you _know_! PRINGLE. Pardon me--but I couldn't help catching a glimpse just now--through these doors. SYLVIA. A glimpse? What did you--_suppose_ you saw? PRINGLE. I had an impression--of course I may be quite wrong!--that any one who didn't _know_ your father might almost mistake him, at first sight, for--I am trying to put it as delicately as I can--for some kind of--er--_quadruped_. [_He sits on sofa beside her._ SYLVIA. You mean a _mule_! [_She rises in tears, and crosses to the mantelpiece._] I think I could have borne it better if he'd only been a _nice_ mule. B--but--[_breaking down_]--he _isn't_! PRINGLE. [_Rising and going towards her._] You don't say so! [_Sympathetically._] That, of course, must make it all the harder for you. SYLVIA. [_Tearfully._] His temper is simply _fearful_! Why, just now, when I said he must try to manage some oats or a carrot for lunch, he--he lashed out and sent his hoofs through the mummy-case! PRINGLE. Dear--dear! Perhaps if you could persuade him to see a vet----[_Correcting himself._] I mean a _doctor_---- SYLVIA. [_Crossing towards sofa on right._] It would be no use--he never _will_ take medicine! And what are we to _do_ with him? It's too dreadful to think that he may have to be sent to--to a Home of Rest for Horses! [_She sinks on sofa, and bursts into tears once more._ PRINGLE. [_Following her._] He never _was_ what you might call a "horsey" man--let us hope he won't come to _that_! Have you any idea how he came to be--er--affected like this? SYLVIA. [_Resentfully, through her tears._] There's no _affectation_ about it, Mr. Pringle--oh, you mean "afflicted"--we can't _think_. He wasn't as bright as usual at breakfast--I think he was rather worried because he couldn't find that seal Horace lent him last night---- PRINGLE. But no amount of _worry_----! Pardon me, I interrupt you. [_He takes a chair by the sofa._ SYLVIA.