Part 12 (1/2)

So do I. But she's not my idea of a weary fragment or a chastened widow.

THE DEAN.

My dear Georgiana, I rejoice that you meet me in this affectionate spirit, and when--pardon me--when you have a little caught the _tone_ of the Deanery----

GEORGIANA.

Oh, I'll catch it; if I don't the Deanery will a little catch _my_ tone--the same thing.

[_SHEBA laughs._

THE DEAN.

[_Reprovingly._] Toy-child!

GEORGIANA.

Trust George Tidd for setting things quite square in a palace or a puddle.

THE DEAN.

George Tidd! Who is George Tidd?

GEORGIANA.

I am George Tidd--that was my racing name. Ask after George Tidd at Newmarket--they'll tell you all about me. My colors were crimson and black diamonds. There you are.

[_Producing her pocket-handkerchief, which is crimson and black._

THE DEAN.

Dear me! Very interesting! Georgiana, my dear. One moment, children.

[_The girls go into the Library._

THE DEAN.

[_Tapping the handkerchief._] I understand distinctly from your letter that all this is finally abandoned?

GEORGIANA.

Worse luck! They'll never see my colors at the post again!

THE DEAN.

And the contemplation of sport generally as a mental distraction----?

GEORGIANA.

Oh, yes--I dare say you'll manage to wean me from that, too, in time.