FAKRASH. [_Moving to right behind the sofa._] Let the rat, while he is still between the leopard's paws, observe rigidly all the laws of politeness! Take heed--or thou mayst become more hideous even than a mule! [_General sensation._ PROFESSOR FUTVOYE. Eh? I spoke hastily--but I meant nothing offensive! I--I'm very much obliged to you. And now don't let us detain you--_either_ of you--from your other engagements. HORACE. [_Coming forward._] I'm going, sir--but I must say one last word to Sylvia----! FAKRASH. [_To SYLVIA._] Hearken not to this deceiver, O damsel,--for he will never wed thee! SYLVIA. [_Indignantly._] I'll never wed _him_! FAKRASH. Thou wilt not--for he is betrothed to a darker bride. HORACE. What! SYLVIA. Ah! [_To HORACE, coldly._] The--the lady I met last night? I wish you every happiness. [_Turning to PRINGLE._] On second thoughts, Mr. Pringle, I _will_ come to dinner to-night. [_PRINGLE expresses his gratification._ HORACE. [_Going nearer SYLVIA._] Sylvia! It may be for the last time----! FAKRASH. It is! Come! [_He extends his right hand towards HORACE, who is irresistibly drawn backwards to him._] For I will tarry no longer. [_He seizes his arm._ HORACE. [_Making an ineffectual resistance._] Let me go, Fakrash! Where are you taking me to? FAKRASH. [_Seizes him round the waist._] To meet--[_he soars up with HORACE through the open window on the right, and the remainder of the sentence is continued outside in mid-air_]--thy bride! [_The others go to window and gaze after them, pointing upwards._ PRINGLE. [_With solemn disapproval._] Disgraceful! They've flown right over the chimney-pots! THE CURTAIN FALLS. END OF THE THIRD ACT. THE FOURTH ACT SCENE I HORACE'S rooms, as in the opening of the play_. _The time is immediately after the close of the Third Act._ _As the curtain rises MRS. RAPKIN _is arranging various articles on the table_. RAPKIN enters from the door leading to landing, carrying a pair of boots on trees, which he takes into HORACE'S bedroom by the door down on the right, and then returns._ RAPKIN. [_Uneasily, to MRS. RAPKIN._] Marire, did Mr. Ventimore _say_ anythink this morning--regarding last night? MRS. RAPKIN. Ah, you may well ask! After sneakin' off first thing like you did, and leavin' me to make your excuses! RAPKIN. You'd some to make on your own, Marire. [_Sitting on right of table._] If his friends got any dinner, it was no thanks to _you_! MRS. RAPKIN. I'd never have gone if I 'adn't fancied the 'ouse was changed into Arabian 'alls and full o' grinnin' niggers! RAPKIN.