Part 6 (1/2)

[_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----