Every abused institution has its redeeming characteristic. But whence is the money to come to reward these dreadful persons? I cannot reasonably ask my girls to organize a bazaar or concert. GEORGIANA. Concert! I'm a rich woman. THE DEAN. Rich! GEORGIANA. Well, I've cleared fifteen hundred over the Handicap. THE DEAN. [_Recoiling._] No! Then the horse who enjoyed the shelter of the Deanery last night---- SIR TRISTRAM. Dandy Dick! THE DEAN. Won! GEORGIANA. In a common canter! All the rest nowhere, and Bonny Betsy walked in with the policeman. THE DEAN. [_To himself._] Five hundred pounds towards the Spire! Five hundred! Oh, where is Blore with the good news! SIR TRISTRAM. Look at him! Lively as a cricket! THE DEAN. Sir Tristram, I am under the impression that your horse swallowed reluctantly a small portion of that bolus last night before I was surprised and removed. SIR TRISTRAM. By the bye, I am expecting the analysis of that concoction every minute. THE DEAN. Spare yourself the trouble--the secret is with me. I seek no acknowledgment from either of you, but in your moment of deplorable triumph remember with gratitude the little volume of "The Horse and its Ailments" and the prosaic name of its humane author--John Cox. [_He goes out through the Library._ GEORGIANA. But oh, Tris Mardon, what can I ever say to you? SIR TRISTRAM. Anything you like except "Thank you!" GEORGIANA. Don't stop me? Why, you were the man who hauled Augustin out of the cart by his legs! SIR TRISTRAM. Oh, but why mention such trifles? GEORGIANA. They're not trifles. And when his cap fell off, it was you--brave fellow that you are--who pulled the horse's nose-bag over my brother's head so that he shouldn't be recognized. SIR TRISTRAM. My dear Georgiana, these are the common courtesies of every-day life. GEORGIANA. They are acts which any true woman would esteem. Gus won't readily forget the critical moment when all the cut chaff ran down the back of his neck--nor shall I. SIR TRISTRAM. Nor shall I forget the way in which you gave Dandy his whisky out of a soda water bottle just before the race. GEORGIANA. That's nothing--any lady would do the same. SIR TRISTRAM. Nothing! You looked like the Florence Nightingale of the paddock! Oh, Georgiana, why, why, why won't you marry me? GEORGIANA. Why! SIR TRISTRAM. Why? GEORGIANA. Why! Because you've only just asked me, Tris! [_Goes to him cordially._ SIR TRISTRAM. But when I touched your hand last night, you reared! GEORGIANA. Yes, Tris, old man, but love is founded on mutual esteem; last night you hadn't put my brother's head in that nose-bag. [_They go together to the fireplace, he with his arm round her waist._ SHEBA. [_Looking in at the door._] How annoying! There's Aunt and Sir Tristram in this room--Salome and Major Tarver are sitting on the hot pipes in the conservatory--where am I and Mr. Darbey to go? Papa! Come back!