The Dean.
Check me in a growing tendency to dislike Mr. Garvey. At dinner, Sheba, watch that I carve for him fairly.
Sheba.
Yes, Papsey!
[The Dean turns away and sits on the settee. Sheba, with her head down and her hands folded, walks towards the door, and then bounds out.
The Dean.
[Turning the papers over in his hand, solemnly.] Bills! [He rises, walks thoughtfully to a chair, sits and examines papers again.] Bills! [He rises again, walks to another chair, and sinks into it with a groan.] Bills!
Salome and Sheba re-enter.
Salome.
[To Sheba, in a whisper.] Papa’s alone!