Blore.
The paper’s just arrived.
[The music stops abruptly—all the ladies glare at Blore and hush him down.
Georgiana, Salome, and Sheba.
The Dean.
[Taking the paper from Blore.] This is my fault—there may be something in “The Times” of special interest to me. Thank you, Blore.
[Blore goes out.
Tarver.
Ha, ha, ha! spoilt his pianissimo!