[_Waving him aside._] No greeting to thee! I have come upon my own affairs.
You'll attend to _mine_ first. Undo this infamous spell of yours--do you hear?
[_Sullenly._] I will grant nothing more at _thy_ request.
I don't think you quite understand. I don't _request_--I _command_. On the head and on the eye!
Thou art wasting breath. No longer am I under obligation to thee, O thou perfidious one!
[_Anxiously._] Why--what's _come_ to you? [_Coaxingly._] I say! Fakrash--old _chappie_. Don't play the goat _now_! You _can't_ mean to leave me on the mat like this!
[_Glaring at him._] Canst thou not perceive how hateful thou hast become to me?
I _do_ notice a coolness. But _why_? You were chummy enough not half an hour ago!
[_Going from him towards right._] I had not then discovered thy treachery.
You're barking up the wrong tree, as usual, you know. Come--tell me what it's all about?
Not now. I will deal with thee hereafter, misbegotten cur that thou art!
[_From below fireplace, to HORACE._] You don't seem to be managing him very well _so_ far.
[_Coming down to HORACE._] You gave us to understand that he would do _anything_ for you.
So he will, generally--but not just now. [_Crossing to MRS. FUTVOYE and SYLVIA, while FAKRASH remains apart, with his back to the others._] He's suddenly turned nasty--I've no idea why. But I shall bring him round--in time.
It's my _husband_ who has to be brought round--and there's no time to be lost!
I know--but if I press Fakrash in his present mood, I shall only make matters worse.
Well, if you can't--or _won't_--get him to do something, one of _us_ must try! Perhaps if Miss Sylvia could bring herself to appeal to his better feelings----?
[_Shrinking back._] People who come out of bottles can't _have_ better feelings! I couldn't--_really_, I couldn't.
You'd rather not? [_SYLVIA shudders._] Then I must see what _I_ can do.
[_Drawing PRINGLE back as he is going towards FAKRASH._] I _wouldn't_, Pringle! He's in a vile temper. And, unless you're _anxious_ to become a domestic animal of some sort----
_Pray_ don't run such a risk, dear Mr. Pringle!
I shall be very careful, and I trust that, with ordinary tact----[_He makes a step towards FAKRASH._] Ahem! [_FAKRASH turns suddenly round with a feline snarl; all retreat to left; PRINGLE pulls himself together and tries again._] My--my dear sir, may I ask your attention for a few moments?