[With horror.] What!
Georgiana.
He’s a certainty—if those two buckets of water haven’t put him off it! He’s a moral—if he doesn’t think of his tail coming down the hill. There’s nothing like him at the weight. Keep it dark, Gus—don’t breathe a word to any of your Canons or Archdeacons, or they’ll rush at it and shorten the price for us. Go in, Gus, my boy—take your poor widowed sister’s tip and sleep as peacefully as a blessed baby!
[She presses him warmly to her and kisses him.
The Dean.
[Extricating himself.] Oh! Mrs. Tidman! Go to your room!
Georgiana.
Augustin!
The Dean.
In the morning I will endeavor to frame some verbal expression of the horror with which I regard your proposal. For the present, you are my parents’ child and I trust your bed is well aired.