[The Dean rouses himself, discovers his children and removes his hat.
The Dean.
[To Salome.] Salome! [To Sheba.] My toy-child! [He draws the girls to him and embraces them, then sees Tarver and Darbey.] Dear me! Strangers!
Tarver and Darbey.
[Coughing uncomfortably.] H’m!
Salome.
[Reproachfully, taking his hat from him.] Papa! Major Tarver and Mr. Darbey have ridden over from Durnstone to ask how your cold is.
[Sheba takes the gold-rimmed pince-nez which hangs upon The Dean’s waistcoat and places it before his eyes.
The Dean.
Dear me! Major! Mr. Garvey.