The second post, sir--just hin. THE DEAN. [_Blandly._] Thank you. BLORE. [_Hearing SALOME and SHEBA crying._] They've 'ad a scolding, 'ussies. Let 'em 'ang that on the 'atstand! [_He is going out._ THE DEAN. [_Opening letters._] Oh, Blore! This note from Mr. Hodder, the Secretary of "The Sport and Relaxation Repression Guild," reminds me that to-morrow is the first day of the Races--the St. Marvells Spring Meeting, as it is called. BLORE. Hindeed, sir--fancy that! And I not know it! THE DEAN. All our servants may not resemble you, Blore. Pray remind them in the kitchen and the stable of the rule of the house---- BLORE. No servant allowed to leave the Deanery, on hany pretence, while the Races is on. THE DEAN. [_Kindly._] While the races _are_ on--thank you, Blore. [_Opens his second letter._ BLORE. Thank _you,_ sir. [_To himself._] Oh, if the Dean only knew the good thing I could put him on to for the Durnstone Handicap! [_He goes out._ THE DEAN. Children! Salome! Sheba! Here is good news! SALOME. [_Running to him._] Good news! SHEBA. What is it? THE DEAN. Your Aunt! SHEBA. Left us some money? THE DEAN. Your Aunt is coming to live with us. SHEBA. To what? SALOME. To live with us! What Aunt? THE DEAN. My dear widowed sister, Georgiana Tidman. SALOME. What's she like? SHEBA. We don't want her. THE DEAN. Good gracious! Georgiana and I reconciled after all these years! She will help us to keep the expenses down. SALOME. Keep the expenses down! THE DEAN. [_Embracing his daughters._] A second mother to my girls. She will implant the precepts of retrenchment if their father cannot! SALOME. But, Papa, who is Aunt what's-her-name? SHEBA. Who is she? THE DEAN. My dears--a mournful, miserable history! [_With his head bent he walks to a chair, and holds out his hands to the girls, who go to him and kneel at his feet._] When you were infants your Aunt Georgiana married an individual whose existence I felt it my sad duty never to recognize. SALOME. A bad man? THE DEAN. He died ten years ago, and, therefore, we will say a misguided man. He was a person who bred horses to run in races for amusement combined with profit. He was also what is called a Gentleman Jockey, and it was your aunt's wifely boast that if ever he vexed her she could take a stone off his weight in half an hour. In due course his neck was dislocated. SHEBA. By Aunt? THE DEAN. Hush, child, no! You will be little wiser when I tell you he came a cropper! SALOME. How awful it all sounds! THE DEAN. Left a widow, you would think it natural that Georgiana Tidman would have flown to her brother, himself a widower. Not at all. Maddened, I hope, by grief, she continued the career of her misguided husband, and for years, to use her own terrible words, she was "the Daisy of the Turf." SHEBA. What's that? THE DEAN.