[He rises and walks gloomily across to the piano, on the top of which he commences to arrange his bills. In horror Salome scrambles up from the floor, and Sheba wriggles off the table. Simultaneously they drop on to the same chair and huddle together.
Salome.
Sheba.
[To herself.] Done for!
The Dean.
And now you have so cheerily opened the subject, let me tell you with equal good humor [emphatically flourishing the bills] that this sort of thing must be put a stop to. Your dressmaker’s bill is shocking; your milliner gives an analytical record of the feverish beatings of the hot pulse of fashion; your general draper blows a rancorous blast which would bring dismay to the stoutest heart. Let me for once peal out a deep paternal bass to your childish treble and say emphatically—I’ve had enough of it!
[He paces up and down. The two girls utter a loud yell of grief.
Sheba.
[Through her tears.] We’ve been brought up as young ladies—that can’t be done for nothing!