Why, don't you see, as you will have to drive over to dine, you will both be here, on the spot, ready to take us back to Durnstone? [_THE DEAN sits at his desk in the Library._ DARBEY. Of course; when we're turned out we can hang about in the lane till you're ready. TARVER. Yes, but when are _we_ to make our preparations? It'll take me a long time to look like Charles the First! SHEBA. We can drive about Durnstone while you dress. SALOME. [_To TARVER, admiringly._] Charles the First! Oh, Major! DARBEY. That was my idea--Charles the Martyr, you know. Tarver's a martyr to his liver--see? SHEBA. Oh! sha'n't we all look magnificent? SALOME. Oh! TARVER. Grand idea--the whole thing! DARBEY. Regular army notion! [_They are all in a state of great excitement when THE DEAN re-enters, with an anxious look, carrying a bundle of papers._ SALOME. Here is Papa! [_They rush to various seats, all in constrained attitudes._ TARVER. [_To THE DEAN._] We waited to say--good-morning. THE DEAN. [_Taking his hand, abstractedly._] How kind! Good-morning! DARBEY. Six o'clock sharp, Dean? THE DEAN. At six, punctually. Salome, represent me by escorting these gentlemen to the gate. [_SALOME, TARVER, and DARBEY go out. SHEBA is following slyly when THE DEAN looks up from his papers._] Sheba! SHEBA. Papsey! THE DEAN. Check me in a growing tendency to dislike Mr. Garvey. At dinner, Sheba, watch that I carve for him fairly. SHEBA. Yes, Papsey! [_THE DEAN turns away and sits on the settee. SHEBA, with her head down and her hands folded, walks towards the door, and then bounds out._ THE DEAN. [_Turning the papers over in his hand, solemnly._] Bills! [_He rises, walks thoughtfully to a chair, sits and examines papers again._] Bills! [_He rises again, walks to another chair, and sinks into it with a groan._] Bills! _SALOME and SHEBA re-enter._ SALOME. [_To SHEBA, in a whisper._] Papa's alone! SHEBA. A beautiful opportunity to ask for that little present of money. Poor dear Papa! SALOME _and_ Sheba. Poor dear Papa! [_They link their hands together and walk as if going out through the Library._ THE DEAN. [_Looking up._] Don't go, children! [_He rises, the girls rush to him, and laughing with joy they turn him like a top, dancing round him._ [_Panting._] Stop, children! SHEBA. Papsey's in a good humor! SALOME. [_Pinching his chin._] He always is! SHEBA. Papsey will listen to our little wants! [_They force him into a chair. SALOME sits on the ground embracing his legs, SHEBA lies on the top of the table._ THE DEAN. Oh dear, oh dear! Your wants are very little ones. What are they, Salome? What are they, toy-child? SALOME. Papa! Have you any spare cash? THE DEAN. Spare cash! Playful Salome! SHEBA. _L--s--d,_ Papsey, or _L--s,_ Papsey, and never mind the--_d._ THE DEAN.