To a man in my condition love is either a rapid and fatal malady, or it is an admirable digestive. Accept me, and my merry laugh once more rings through the Mess Room. Reject me, and my collection of vocal music, loose and in volumes, will be brought to the hammer, and the bird, as it were, will trill no more. SALOME. And is it really I who would hush the little throaty songster? TARVER. Certainly. [_Taking a sheet of paper from his pocket._] I have the Doctor's certificate to that effect. [_Both reading the certificate they walk into Library._ SHEBA. Oh, Mr. Darbey, I have never thought of marriage seriously. DARBEY. People never do till they _are_ married. SHEBA. But think, only think of my age. DARBEY. Pardon me, Sheba--but what is your age? SHEBA. Oh, it is so very little--it is not worth mentioning. Cannot we remain friends and occasionally correspond? DARBEY. Well, of course--if you insist---- SHEBA. No, no, I see that is impracticable. It must be wed or part. All I ask is time--time to ponder over such a question, time to know myself better. DARBEY. Certainly, how long? SHEBA. Give me two or three minutes. Hush! [_They separate as TARVER and SALOME re-enter the room. TARVER is glaring excitedly and biting his nails._ TARVER. I never thought I should live to be accepted by anyone. I shall buy some gay songs. Er--when can I see the Dean? SALOME. Oh, don't! TARVER. Salome! SALOME. Papa has been out all night. DARBEY _and_ TARVER. All night? SALOME. Isn't it terrible! Oh, what do you think of it, Mr. Darbey? DARBEY. Shocking, but we oughtn't to condemn him unheard. SALOME. Condemn my Papa! SHEBA. [_At the window._] Here's Aunt Georgiana! DARBEY. Eh! Look out, Tarver. [_Going out quickly._ SALOME. [_Pulling TARVER after her._] Come this way and let us take cuttings in the conservatory. [_They go out._ SHEBA. Mr. Darbey! Mr. Darbey, wait for me--I have decided. _Yes._ [_She goes out by the door as GEORGIANA enters excitedly at the window._ GEORGIANA. [_Waving her handkerchief._] Come on, Tris! The course is clear! Mind the gate-post! Hold him up! Now give him his head! _SIR TRISTRAM and HATCHAM enter by the window carrying THE DEAN. They all look as though they have been recently engaged in a prolonged struggle._ SIR TRISTRAM. Put him down! GEORGIANA. Put him down! HATCHAM. That I will, ma'am, and gladly. [_They deposit THE DEAN in a chair and GEORGIANA and SIR TRISTRAM each seize a hand, feeling THE DEAN'S pulse, while HATCHAM puts his hand on THE DEAN'S heart._ THE DEAN. [_Opening his eyes._] Where am I now? GEORGIANA. He lives! Hurrah! Cheer man, cheer! SIR TRISTRAM _and_ HATCHAM [_Quietly._] Hurrah! [_To HATCHAM._] We can't shout here; go and cheer as loudly as you can in the roadway by yourself. HATCHAM. Yes, Sir. [_HATCHAM runs out at the window._ THE DEAN. [_Gradually recovering._] Georgiana--Mardon. SIR TRISTRAM. How are you, Jedd, old boy? GEORGIANA.