THE END OF THE FIRST SCENE. _The second scene is the Morning Room at the Deanery again._ _SALOME and SHEBA are sitting there gloomily._ SALOME. Poor Papa! SHEBA. Poor dear Papa! SALOME. He must return very soon--he must! SHEBA. He must! In the meantime it is such a comfort to feel that we have no cause for self-reproach. SALOME. But the anxiety is terribly wearing. SHEBA. Nothing is so weakening, Salome. SALOME. Sheba, dear. SHEBA. [_Clinging to SALOME._] If I should pine and ultimately die of this suspense I want you to have my workbox. SALOME. [_Shaking her head and sadly turning away._] Thank you, dear, but if Papa is not home for afternoon tea you will outlive me. [_Turning towards the window as MAJOR TARVER and MR. DARBEY appear outside._ DARBEY. [_Outside._] Miss Jedd! Miss Jedd! SALOME. Sheba! Here are Gerald Tarver and Mr. Darbey! SHEBA. Oh, the presumption! Open the window and dare them to enter! [_SALOME unfastens the window._ DARBEY. [_Outside._] Thank you. Don't be shocked when you see Tarver. _TARVER and DARBEY enter, dressed for the Races, but DARBEY is supporting TARVER, who looks extremely weakly._ TARVER. Pardon this informal method of presenting ourselves. SALOME. You do well, gentlemen, to intrude upon two feeble women at a moment of sorrow. SHEBA. One step further, and I shall ask Major Tarver, who is nearest the bell, to ring for help. [_TARVER sinks into a chair._ DARBEY. [_Standing by the side of TARVER._] There now. The fact is. Miss Jedd, that Tarver is in an exceedingly critical condition. Feeling that he has incurred your displeasure he has failed even in the struggle to gain the race-course. I have taken him to Dr. Middleton and I explained that Major Tarver loved with a passion [_looking at SHEBA_] second only to my own. SALOME. [_Sitting comfortably on the settee._] Oh, we cannot listen to you, Mr. Darbey. SHEBA. Go on, sir, if you can. [_The two girls exchange looks._ DARBEY. The Doctor made a searching examination of the Major's tongue and diagnosed that, unless the Major at once proposed to the lady in question and was accepted, three weeks or a month at the seaside would be absolutely imperative. Shall I continue? SALOME. Oh, certainly. I am helpless. SHEBA. We are curious to see to what lengths you will go. DARBEY. The pitiable condition of my poor friend speaks for itself. SALOME. I beg your pardon--it does nothing of the kind. TARVER. [_Rising with difficulty and approaching SALOME._] Salome--I have loved you distractedly for upwards of eight weeks. SALOME. [_Going to him._] Oh, Major Tarver, let me pass; [_holding his coat firmly_] let me pass, I say. TARVER. Unless you push me, never! SHEBA. Spare me this scene, Mr. Darbey. [_DARBEY follows SHEBA across the room._ TARVER.