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BLORE.
Yes, sir, he his.
TARVER.
Eh? How is the Dean? Never mind--perhaps Miss Jedd is at home?
BLORE.
Yes, sir, she his.
TARVER.
It would be discourteous to run away without asking Miss Jedd after her father.
DARBEY.
[_Throwing himself on the settee._] Deuced bad form!
BLORE.
The ladies were 'ere a minute ago.
[_SALOME and SHEBA walk in together. SALOME has her arm round her sister's waist and looks up to her with a sweet, trusting smile. They start in confusion on seeing TARVER and DARBEY._
SALOME.
Major Tarver.
SHEBA.
Mr. Darbey.
TARVER.
[_Taking SALOME'S hand eagerly._] My dear Miss Jedd!
DARBEY.
[_Rising and putting a gla.s.s to his eye._] Hah yah! Hah yah!
SALOME.
[_With her hand on her heart._] You quite startled us.
TARVER.
[_In an agony of contrition._] Oh, did we?
DARBEY.
Awfully cut up to hear it.
SHEBA.
We never dreamt of finding two visitors for Papa.
BLORE.
Why, you told me to show the gentlemen hin, Miss Sheba!
[_The two girls start guiltily and glare at BLORE._
SALOME.
[_With suppressed rage_.] You needn't wait, Blore!
BLORE.
[_To himself._] Let 'em 'ang that on the 'atstand!
[_BLORE goes out. DARBEY and SHEBA stroll together into the Library._
TARVER.
[_To SALOME._] We thought we'd ride over directly after parade to make the final arrangements for tonight. Have the costumes arrived?
SALOME.
Yes, they came yesterday in a hamper labeled "Miss Jedd, Secretary, Cast-off Clothing Distribution League."
TARVER.
That was my idea--came to me in the middle of the night.
SALOME.
Dear Major Tarver, surely this terrible strain on your nerves is very, very bad for you with your--your----
TARVER.
My liver--say the word, Miss Jedd.
SALOME.
[_Drooping her head._] Oh, Major Tarver!
TARVER.
