Then mother _was_ right! I'd fearful misgivings that it was for _last_ night, and that somehow we'd forgotten all about it. Wouldn't that have been too dreadful of us? HORACE. Oh, I--I don't know. I mean--I could have forgiven even _that_. PROFESSOR FUTVOYE. Ah, now I think of it--[_interposing between SYLVIA and HORACE, and drawing him apart, while SYLVIA goes up towards the table_]--did you find time to attend that sale for me yesterday? HORACE. [_Blankly._] Oh, yes. I _attended_ it. PROFESSOR FUTVOYE. We called at your rooms yesterday afternoon, but you weren't in, so we didn't wait for you. Now tell me--[_anxiously_]--did you get any of those lots for me, or didn't you? HORACE. Well, no. I had the most rotten luck. PROFESSOR FUTVOYE. [_With relief._] It's just as well you didn't--just as well. I doubt now whether I could afford the money. I find I shall be put to considerable expense--for repairs to my study. [_He turns to MR. WACKERBATH, who is on his right. SYLVIA comes down, and PRINGLE advances to greet her, but, finding she evidently sees no one but HORACE, he goes up towards the balcony fuming with rage._ SYLVIA. [_To HORACE._] Come and sit down somewhere, and tell me everything you've been doing. [_HORACE takes her to the sofa by the fireplace, where they sit down and talk in dumb show, while PRINGLE is now hanging about undecidedly near the flower-stand, waiting his opportunity for addressing SYLVIA, and furiously jealous at finding her still too absorbed to notice him_; MRS. FUTVOYE and MRS. WACKERBATH are talking confidentially on the sofa on the left side of the room, and the PROFESSOR and MR. WACKERBATH are standing in the centre._ MR. WACKERBATH. So you and my young friend Ventimore are already acquainted, eh, Professor? PROFESSOR FUTVOYE. Why, yes. In fact, he's supposed to be engaged to Sylvia. But, between ourselves, I should feel more satisfied if there was any prospect of his getting work. MR. WACKERBATH. My dear Futvoye, you needn't be uneasy about _that_! Why, this house he's building for _me_ will find him work enough. He's an able young chap, and I shouldn't be surprised if he gave me a perfect palace! PRINGLE. [_Who is near enough to hear this, comes down._] What, _another_ palace, Mr. Wackerbath? MR. WACKERBATH. [_In some astonishment._] Eh? Why, bless my soul, sir, I thought you'd gone to the "Patience" Room long ago! PRINGLE.