Well; then Jessie came in to say that a foreign gentleman had called to see him on important business. Father told her to show him into the study, and went in presently to hear what he came about. We heard them arguing, and father's voice seemed to be getting angry, so mother went in to beg him not to excite himself. She found father alone, and--just as she opened the door--he--he changed into a mule before her eyes. [_She breaks down entirely._ PRINGLE. Really? It--it must have upset her considerably. SYLVIA. It _did_. But, luckily, mother never loses her head. She locked the study doors at once, and we shut these, and I don't _think_ the servants suspect anything at present. But they're sure to find out before long. PRINGLE. Yes. I'm afraid it's bound to leak out. SYLVIA. But how could this horrible thing have happened? PRINGLE. [_Solemnly._] My dear Miss Sylvia, let me remind you that "there are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamed of in----" SYLVIA. [_Petulantly._] Oh, don't quote that _now_, Mr. Pringle! It _is_ so stale! PRINGLE. [_With wounded dignity._] It may be stale--but it's Shakespeare! And I can only conclude that--even in the twentieth century--magic is not the lost art I had always imagined it. SYLVIA. [_Turning to him with more interest._] Then _you_ believe now that Horace _did_ find a Jinnee in that brass bottle? PRINGLE. [_Rising._] No, no. I don't go as far as _that_. SYLVIA. How far _do_ you go? PRINGLE. Well, I know that Ventimore is associated with an elderly Oriental who possesses extraordinary will-power. This very morning, in Ventimore's own office, they played a highly unprofessional and discreditable trick between them on your own godfather, Mr. Wackerbath. SYLVIA. On godfather! No, no, I'm sure Horace had nothing to do with _that_! PRINGLE. I was _there_--and he evidently had a great _deal_ to do with it. I thought at the time it was hypnotism--but it's clear enough _now_ that this confederate of Ventimore's is a powerful and most unscrupulous magician. SYLVIA. [_Springing up indignantly, and crossing to fireplace._] I won't hear any more! You're trying to make me doubt Horace again--but you can't! you _can't_! I _know_ he'd never send a magician to hurt father! [_As HORACE enters from the hall, looking pale and wild._] Ah! Horace, you needn't tell me! _You_ at least have no share in what has happened! HORACE. [_Going to her and taking both her hands._] Darling! For Heaven's sake tell me what _has_ happened? SYLVIA. [_Triumphantly._] You hear, Mr. Pringle? He doesn't even know! _Now_ will you dare to repeat what you were saying--to his face? PRINGLE. If you insist. I've been saying, Ventimore, that I believe _you_ to have inspired this abominable transformation of the Professor. HORACE. It's true, then? He--he really _is_ a mule? SYLVIA. [_Disengaging herself, with a sudden doubt._] Horace, tell me--_did_ you send any one to father!