Salome.
Sheba’s small, but she cuts into a lot of material.
The Dean.
My girls, it is such unbosomings as this which preserve the domestic unison of a family. Weep, howl, but listen. The total of these weeds which spring up in the beautiful garden of paternity is a hundred and fifty-six, eighteen, three. Now, all the money I can immediately command is considerably under five hundred pounds.
Salome.
Sheba.
Oh! what a lot!
The Dean.
Hush! But read, Salome, read aloud this paragraph in “The Times” of yesterday. There, my child.