"The Arabian Nights"--yes. I read it regularly.
[_To the others, airily._] Which probably accounts for his dreams. And, in some exceptional cases, the Efreets--I mean, the _effects_--don't go off altogether for hours after the operation. Mr. Pringle thinks he can't have been thoroughly awake----
Oh, he is _now_--quite serious and sensible, and generally himself again.
[_A general murmur of polite satisfaction._
[_Advancing towards PRINGLE._] I'm sure I'm very pleased to hear it, Mr. Pringle! Especially as it permits us to hope that we may still have the--ah--pleasure of your company.
[_The others echo this sentiment in a somewhat half-hearted manner._
You're extremely kind--but I think perhaps I shall be better at home.
[_In a motherly tone._] I'm _sure_ you will, dear Mr. Pringle. What _you_ ought to do is to go to bed and get a good night's sleep.
[_Obviously relieved._] Ah, well, I won't insist--I won't insist. Perhaps you will give us some other evening?
[_With extreme stiffness._] I'm obliged to you--but I dine out very seldom. Good-night. [_He crosses to MRS. FUTVOYE and shakes hands with her, and bows to MR. and MRS. WACKERBATH, after which MR. WACKERBATH takes_ MRS. FUTVOYE up to the glazed balcony to see the river, which by this time is in bright moonlight, the PROFESSOR, after having said good-night to PRINGLE, following with MRS. WACKERBATH. PRINGLE then turns to SYLVIA, who is standing on the extreme left._] Good-night, Miss Sylvia. May I offer my congratulations? I can only hope that you may be as happy--as happy as--as _possible_.
[_Faint waltz music is heard from the restaurant._
[_Quietly._] Thanks so much, Mr. Pringle, I think I _shall_. [_Giving him her hand._] Good-night.
[_She goes up and joins the group in the glazed balcony._
Good-night. [_He turns to HORACE._] One moment, Ventimore!
Oh, I'm coming to the door with you, old fellow.
[_He is about to go up with him, when PRINGLE detains him._
I only wanted to ask you this. [_Lowering his voice._] Where _is_ that Jinnee of yours now?
[_Standing by the sofa by fireplace._] Well,--do you see that patch of silver on the water just above the bridge--[_pointing to the left_]--where they're all looking?
Only that, somewhere under that patch, old Fakrash is lying, snugly curled up inside his bottle.