No servant allowed to leave the Deanery, on hany pretence, while the Races is on.
The Dean.
[Kindly.] While the races are on—thank you, Blore.
[Opens his second letter.
Blore.
Thank you, sir. [To himself.] Oh, if the Dean only knew the good thing I could put him on to for the Durnstone Handicap!
[He goes out.
The Dean.
Children! Salome! Sheba! Here is good news!
Salome.