Part 53 (1/2)

That's nothing--any lady would do the same.

SIR TRISTRAM.

Nothing! You looked like the Florence Nightingale of the paddock! Oh, Georgiana, why, why, why won't you marry me?

GEORGIANA.

Why!

SIR TRISTRAM.

Why?

GEORGIANA.

Why! Because you've only just asked me, Tris!

[_Goes to him cordially._

SIR TRISTRAM.

But when I touched your hand last night, you reared!

GEORGIANA.

Yes, Tris, old man, but love is founded on mutual esteem; last night you hadn't put my brother's head in that nose-bag.

[_They go together to the fireplace, he with his arm round her waist._

SHEBA.

[_Looking in at the door._] How annoying! There's Aunt and Sir Tristram in this room--Salome and Major Tarver are sitting on the hot pipes in the conservatory--where am I and Mr. Darbey to go? Papa! Come back!

[_She withdraws quickly as THE DEAN enters through the Library carrying a paper in his hand; he has now resumed his normal appearance._

THE DEAN.

Home! What sonorous music is in the word! Home, with the secret of my sad misfortune buried in the bosoms of a faithful few. Home, with my family influence intact! Home, with the sceptre of my dignity still tight in my grasp! What is this I have picked up on the stairs?

[_Reads with a horrified look, as HATCHAM enters at the window._

HATCHAM.

Beg pardon, Sir Tristram.

SIR TRISTRAM.

What is it?

HATCHAM.