I don't know, toy-child. But at length retribution came. Ill luck fell upon her--her horses, stock, everything, came to the hammer. That was my hour. "Come to me," I wrote, "my children yearn for you." SHEBA _and_ SALOME. [_With wry faces._] Oh! THE DEAN. "At the Deanery of St. Marvells, with the cares of a household, and a stable which contains only a thirteen-year-old pony, you may obtain rest and forgetfulness." And she is coming! SHEBA _and_ SALOME. When? Oh! when? THE DEAN. She merely says, "Soon." SHEBA _and_ SALOME. [_Stamping with vexation._] Ugh! THE DEAN. Salome, Sheba, you will, I fear, find her a sad broken creature, a weary fragment, a wave-tossed derelict. Let it be your patient endeavor to win back a flickering smile to the wan features of this chastened widow. _BLORE enters with a telegram._ BLORE. A telegram, sir! [_THE DEAN opens telegram._ SHEBA. No Aunt Tidman flickers a smile at me! SALOME. I wouldn't be in her shoes for something! SHEBA. Salt in her bed, Salome! SALOME. Yes, and the peg out of the rattling window! [_They grip hands earnestly._ THE DEAN. Good gracious! Bless me! Girls, your Aunt Georgiana slept at the "Wheatsheaf," at Durnstone, last night, and is coming on this morning! SALOME _and_ SHEBA. To-day! THE DEAN. Blore, tell Willis to get the chaise out. [_BLORE hurries out._ THE DEAN. Salome, child, you and I will drive into Durnstone--we may be in time to bring your Aunt over. My hat, Sheba! Quick! [_The clang of the gate bell is heard in the distance._] The bell! [_Looking out of window._] No--yes--it can't be! [_Speaking in an altered voice._] Children! I wonder if this is your Aunt Georgiana? [_BLORE appears with a half-frightened, surprised look._ BLORE. Mrs. Tidman. _GEORGIANA TIDMAN enters. She is a jovial, noisy woman, very "horsey" in manners and appearance, and dressed in pronounced masculine style, with billy cock hat and coaching coat. The girls cling to each other; THE DEAN recoils._ GEORGIANA. Well, Gus, my boy, how are you? THE DEAN. [_Shocked._] Georgiana! GEORGIANA. [_Patting THE DEAN'S cheeks._] You're putting on too much flesh, Augustin; they should give you a ten-miler daily in a blanket. THE DEAN. [_With dignity._] My dear sister! GEORGIANA. Are these your two-year-olds? [_To SALOME._] Kiss your Aunt! [_She kisses SALOME with a good hearty smack._] [_To SHEBA._] Kiss your Aunt! [_She embraces SHEBA, then stands between the two girls and surveys them critically, touching them alternately with the end of her cane._] Lord bless you both! What names do you run under? SALOME. I--I am Salome. SHEBA. I am Sheba. GEORGIANA. [_Looking at SHEBA._] Why, little 'un, your stable companion could give you a stone and then get her nose in front! THE DEAN. [_Who has been impatiently fuming._] Georgiana, I fear these poor innocents don't follow your well-intentioned but inappropriate illustrations. GEORGIANA.