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THE DEAN.
[_With a groan._] Oh!
GEORGIANA.
You can sleep to-night with the happy consciousness of having sheltered the outcast.
THE DEAN.
We're locking up now. The poor children, exhausted with the alarm, beg me to say good-night for them. The fire is quite extinguished.
BLORE.
Yes, sir; but I hear they've just sent into Durnstone hasking for the Military to watch the ruins in case of another houtbreak. It'll stop the wicked Ball at the Hathanaeum, it will!
[_Drawing the window curtains._
SIR TRISTRAM.
[_Having re-entered._] I suppose you want to see the last of me, Jedd.
THE DEAN.
Mardon!
GEORGIANA.
Don't be unkind, Tris. Where shall we stow the dear old chap, Gus, my boy?
THE DEAN.
Where shall we stow the dear old chap! I really don't know.
GEORGIANA.
Let me see. We don't want to pitch you out of your loft if we can help it, Gus.
SIR TRISTRAM.
No, no--we won't do that.
THE DEAN.
Don't consider me in this manner. But there's Sheba's little cot still standing in the old nursery.
SIR TRISTRAM.
Just the thing for me--the old nursery.
GEORGIANA.
The old nursery. Toys to play with if you wake early.
THE DEAN.
[_Looking round._] Is there anyone else before we lock up?
[_BLORE has fastened the window and drawn the curtain._
GEORGIANA.
Put Sir Tristram to bed carefully in the nursery, Blore.
SIR TRISTRAM.
[_Grasping THE DEAN'S hand._] Good-night, old boy. I'm too done for a hand of Piquet to-night.
THE DEAN.
I never play cards.
SIR TRISTRAM.
[_Slapping him on the back._] I'll teach you during my stay at the Deanery.
THE DEAN.
[_Helplessly to himself._] Then he's staying with me!
SIR TRISTRAM.
Good-night, George.
GEORGIANA.
Good-night, partner. Heaven bless the little innocent in his cot.
[_SIR TRISTRAM goes out with BLORE._
GEORGIANA.
[_Calling after him._] Tris! You may take your pipe up with you. We smoke all over the Deanery.
THE DEAN.
[_To himself._] I never smoke! Does _she?_
GEORGIANA.
