Sheba.
Mr. Darbey!
The Dean.
Darbey! How good of you! [With his girls still embracing him he extends a hand to each of the men.] My cold is better. [Blore goes out through the Library.] Major—Mr. Garvey—these inquiries strike me as being so kind that I insist—no, no, I beg that you will share our simple dinner with us to-night at six o’clock!
Tarver.
[Disconcerted.] Oh!
Darbey.
H’m!
The Dean.
Let me see—Tuesday night is——