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THE DEAN.
[_With dignity._] Mardon!
SIR TRISTRAM.
Tidd is a pal of yours, eh? Ho! ho!
GEORGIANA.
Ha! ha!
THE DEAN.
Sir Tristram Mardon, Mrs. Tidman is my sister.
SIR TRISTRAM.
Your sister?
GEORGIANA.
Yes, I've been running a bit dark, Mardon, but that stout, well-seasoned animal over there and this skittish creature come of the same stock and were foaled in the same stable. [_Pointing to SALOME and SHEBA._] There are a couple of yearlings here, you don't know. My nieces--Salome and Sheba.
SIR TRISTRAM.
[_Bowing._] How do you do? [_Heartily taking GEORGIANA'S hand again._]
Well, I don't care whose sister you are, but I'm jolly glad to see you, George, my boy.
GEORGIANA.
Gracious, Tris, don't squeeze my hand so!
THE DEAN.
[_In horror._] Salome, Sheba, children! I must speak to you. Excuse me, Mardon. [_To himself._] Oh, what shall I do with my widowed sister?
[_He goes into the garden._
SHEBA.
[_To SALOME._] That's like pa, just as we were getting interested.
SALOME.
We'll come back in a minute.
[_They go out by the window._
SIR TRISTRAM.
Lord! How odd! You know your brother and I were at Oxford together, George?
GEORGIANA.
Were you, Tris! Then are you putting up here?
SIR TRISTRAM.
He won't have me.
GEORGIANA.
Won't have you!
SIR TRISTRAM.
Because I'm down here racing. You see, he's a Dean.
GEORGIANA.
Is he? Well, then, you just lay a thousand sovereigns to a gooseberry that in this house I'm a Dean, too!
SIR TRISTRAM.
I suppose he's thinking of the Canons--and the Bishop--and those chaps.
GEORGIANA.
Lord bless your heart, they're all right when you cheer them up a bit!
If I'm here till the autumn meeting you'll find me lunching on the hill, with the Canons marking my card and the dear old Bishop mixing the salad. So say the word, Tris--I'll make it all right with Augustin.
SIR TRISTRAM.
No, thanks, old fellow. The fact is I'm fixed at the "Swan" with--what do you think, George?--with Dandy d.i.c.k.
GEORGIANA.
Oh! my old Dandy!
SIR TRISTRAM.
I brought him down with me in lavender. You know he runs for the Durnstone Handicap to-morrow.
GEORGIANA.
Know! There's precious little that horse does that I don't know, and what I don't know I dream. Is he fit?
SIR TRISTRAM.
