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[_They all collect themselves in a fl.u.s.ter. The two girls go to meet their father, who enters at the window with his head bowed and his hands behind his back, in deep thought. THE DEAN is a portly man of about fifty, with a dignified demeanor, a suave voice and persuasive manner, and a n.o.ble brow surmounted by silver-gray hair. BLORE follows THE DEAN, carrying some books, a small bunch of flowers, and an umbrella._
SALOME.
[_Tenderly._] Papa!
SHEBA.
Papsey!
[_THE DEAN rouses himself, discovers his children and removes his hat._
THE DEAN.
[_To SALOME._] Salome! [_To SHEBA._] My toy-child! [_He draws the girls to him and embraces them, then sees TARVER and DARBEY._] Dear me! Strangers!
TARVER _and_ Darbey.
[_Coughing uncomfortably._] H'm!
SALOME.
[_Reproachfully, taking his hat from him._] Papa! Major Tarver and Mr.
Darbey have ridden over from Durnstone to ask how your cold is.
[_SHEBA takes the gold-rimmed pince-nez which hangs upon THE DEAN'S waistcoat and places it before his eyes._
THE DEAN.
Dear me! Major! Mr. Garvey.
SHEBA.
Mr. Darbey!
THE DEAN.
Darbey! How good of you! [_With his girls still embracing him he extends a hand to each of the men._] My cold is better. [_BLORE goes out through the Library._] Major--Mr. Garvey--these inquiries strike me as being so kind that I insist--no, no, I _beg_ that you will share our simple dinner with us to-night at six o'clock!
TARVER.
[_Disconcerted._] Oh!
DARBEY.
H'm!
THE DEAN.
Let me see--Tuesday night is----
SALOME.
Leg of mutton, Papa!
THE DEAN.
Thank you. Mutton, hot.
SHEBA.
And custards, Papsey.
THE DEAN.
Thank you, toy-child--custards, cold. And a welcome--warm.
TARVER.
[_Looking to SALOME._] Well, I--ah--[_SALOME nods her head to him violently._] That is, certainly, Dean, certainly.
DARBEY.
Delighted, my dear Dean--delighted!
[_THE DEAN gives DARBEY a severe look, and with an important cough walks into the Library. The men and the girls speak in undertones._
TARVER.
[_Depressed._] Now, what will happen to-night?
SALOME.
Why, don't you see, as you will have to drive over to dine, you will both be here, on the spot, ready to take us back to Durnstone?
[_THE DEAN sits at his desk in the Library._
DARBEY.
Of course; when we're turned out we can hang about in the lane till you're ready.
TARVER.
Yes, but when are _we_ to make our preparations? It'll take me a long time to look like Charles the First!
SHEBA.
We can drive about Durnstone while you dress.
SALOME.
