Our estrangement has been painfully prolonged.
Since then we've both run many races, though we've never met in the same events. The world has ridden us both pretty hard at times, Gus, hasn't it? We've been punished and pulled and led down pretty often, but here we are [_tapping him sharply in the chest with her cane_] sound in the wind yet. You're doing well, Gus, and they say you're going up the hill neck-and-neck with your Bishop. I've dropped out of it--the mares don't last, Gus--and it's good and kind of you to give me a dry stable and a clean litter, and to keep me out of the shafts of a "Shrewsbury and Talbot."
[_In a whisper to SALOME._] Salome, I don't quite understand her--but I like Aunt.
So do I. But she's not my idea of a weary fragment or a chastened widow.
My dear Georgiana, I rejoice that you meet me in this affectionate spirit, and when--pardon me--when you have a little caught the _tone_ of the Deanery----
Oh, I'll catch it; if I don't the Deanery will a little catch _my_ tone--the same thing.
Trust George Tidd for setting things quite square in a palace or a puddle.
I am George Tidd--that was my racing name. Ask after George Tidd at Newmarket--they'll tell you all about me. My colors were crimson and black diamonds. There you are.
[_Producing her pocket-handkerchief, which is crimson and black._
Dear me! Very interesting! Georgiana, my dear. One moment, children.
[_Tapping the handkerchief._] I understand distinctly from your letter that all this is finally abandoned?
Worse luck! They'll never see my colors at the post again!
And the contemplation of sport generally as a mental distraction----?
Oh, yes--I dare say you'll manage to wean me from that, too, in time.
[_The gate bell is heard again, the girls re-enter._
There's a visitor. I'll tootle upstairs and have a groom down. [_To SALOME and SHEBA._] Make the running, girls. At what time do we feed, Augustin?
Right. The air here is so fresh I sha'n't be sorry to get my nose-bag on.
[_She stalks out, accompanied by the girls._
My sister, Georgiana--my widowed sister, Georgiana. Dear me, I am quite disturbed. Surely, surely the serene atmosphere of the Deanery will work a change. It must! It must! If not, what a grave mistake I have made. Good gracious! No, no, I won't think of it! Still, it is a little unfortunate that poor Georgiana should arrive here on the very eve of these terrible races at St. Marvells.