[They go together to the fireplace, he with his arm round her waist.
Sheba.
[Looking in at the door.] How annoying! There’s Aunt and Sir Tristram in this room—Salome and Major Tarver are sitting on the hot pipes in the conservatory—where am I and Mr. Darbey to go? Papa! Come back!
[She withdraws quickly as The Dean enters through the Library carrying a paper in his hand; he has now resumed his normal appearance.
The Dean.
Home! What sonorous music is in the word! Home, with the secret of my sad misfortune buried in the bosoms of a faithful few. Home, with my family influence intact! Home, with the sceptre of my dignity still tight in my grasp! What is this I have picked up on the stairs?
[Reads with a horrified look, as Hatcham enters at the window.
Hatcham.
Beg pardon, Sir Tristram.
Sir Tristram.