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SALOME.
"Tr.i.m.m.i.n.gs, linings, b.u.t.tons, frillings--Seven guineas!"
SHEBA.
[_Hysterically._] Yah!
SALOME.
That's mine!
SHEBA.
[_Putting her fingers into her ears._] Now for mine, oooh!
SALOME.
[_Reading._] "One skirt and bodice--flower girl--period uncertain--Ten guineas."
SHEBA.
Less than yours! What a shame!
SALOME.
"Tr.i.m.m.i.n.gs, linings, b.u.t.tons, frillings--Five guineas! Extras, Two guineas. Total, Forty pounds, nineteen. Ladies' own brown paper patterns mislaid. Terms, Cas.h.!.+"
[_They throw themselves into each other's arms._
SALOME.
Oh, Sheba!
SHEBA.
Salome! Are there forty pounds in the wide world?
SALOME.
My heart weighs twenty. What shall we do?
SHEBA.
If we were only a few years older I should suggest that we wrote nice notes to Papa and committed suicide.
SALOME.
Brought up as we have been, that's out of the question!
SHEBA.
Then let us be brave women and wear the dresses!
SALOME.
Of course we'll do that, but--the bill!
SHEBA.
We must get dear Papa in a good humor and coax him to make us a present of money. He knows we haven't been charitable in the town for ever so long.
SALOME.
Poor dear Papa! He hasn't paid our proper dressmaker's bill yet, and I'm sure he's pressed for money.
SHEBA.
But we can't help that when _we're_ pressed for money--poor dear Papa!
SALOME.
Suppose poor Papa refuses to give us a present?
SHEBA.
Then we must play the piano when he's at work on his Concordance--poor dear Papa!
SALOME.
However, don't let us wrong poor Papa in advance. Let us try to think how nice we shall look.
SHEBA.
Oh yes--sha'n't I!
SALOME.
Oh, I shall! And as for stealing out of the house with Major Tarver when poor dear Papa has gone to bed, why, Gerald Tarver would die for me!
SHEBA.
So would Nugent Darbey for me; besides I'm not old enough to know better.
SALOME.
You're not so very much younger than I, Sheba!
SHEBA.
