Georgiana.
Don’t be down, Tris, my boy; cheer up, lad, he’ll be fit yet, bar a chill! Aha! he knew me, he knew me when I kissed his dear old nose!
Sir Tristram.
He’d be a fool of a horse if he hadn’t felt deuced flattered at that.
Georgiana.
He’s no fool. He knows he’s in the Deanery too. Did you see him cast up his eyes and lay his ears back when I led him in?
Sir Tristram.
Oh, George, George, it’s such a pity about his tail!
Georgiana.
[Cheerily.] Not it. You watch his head to-morrow—that’ll come in first.