Chapter 3

_It is after dinner in BELINDA'S hall. The log fire, chandelier and wall brackets are all alight_. BELINDA _is lying on the Chesterfield with a coffee-cup in her hand_. DELIA, _in the chair down_ L. _below the fireplace, has picked up "The Lute of Love" from a table and is reading it impatiently. She also has a coffee-cup in her hand_.

DELIA (_throwing the book away_). What rubbish he writes!

BELINDA (_coming back from her thoughts_). Who, dear?

DELIA. Claude

(BELINDA _gives her a quick look of surprise_.)

--Mr. Devenish. (_She rises and stands by the fireplace with her cup in her hand_.) Of course, he's very young.

BELINDA. So was Keats, darling.

DELIA. I don't think Claude has had Keats' advantages. Keats started life as an apothecary.

BELINDA. So much nicer than a chemist.

DELIA. Now, Claude started with nothing to do.

BELINDA (_mildly_). Do you always call him Claude, darling? I hope you aren't going to grow into a flirt like that horrid Mrs. Tremayne.

DELIA. Silly mother! (_She moves to_ BELINDA, _takes her cup, then crosses to the table and places both the cups on the table-- seriously_.) I don't think he'll ever be any good till he really gets work. Did you notice his hair this evening?

BELINDA (_dreamily_). Whose, dear?

DELIA (_going to the back of the Chesterfield and to the_ L. _of_ BELINDA). Mummy, look me in the eye and tell me you are not being bad.

BELINDA (_having playfully turned her head away and hidden her face with her handkerchief, says innocently_). Bad, darling?

DELIA (_moving down to the front of the fireplace_). You've made Mr. Robinson fall in love with you.

BELINDA (_happily_). Have I?

DELIA. Yes; it's serious this time. He's not like the other two.

BELINDA. However did you know that?

DELIA. Oh, I know.

BELINDA. Darling, I believe you've grown up. It's quite time I settled down.

DELIA. With Mr. Robinson?

(BELINDA _sits up and looks thoughtfully at_ DELIA _for a little time_.)

BELINDA (_mysteriously_). Delia, are you prepared for a great secret to be revealed to you?

DELIA (_childishly and jumping on to the_ L. _arm of the Chesterfield facing_ BELINDA). Oh, I love secrets.

BELINDA (_reproachfully_). Darling, you mustn't take it like that. This is a great, deep, dark secret; you'll probably need your sal volatile.

DELIA (_excitedly_). Go on!

BELINDA. Well---- (_Looking round the room_.) Shall we have the lights down a little?

DELIA. Go on, mummy.

BELINDA. Well, Mr. Robinson is--(_impressively_)--is not quite the Robinson he appears to be.

DELIA. Yes?

BELINDA. In fact, child, he is---- Darling, hadn't you better come and hold your mother's hand?

DELIA (_struggling with some emotion and placing her hand on_ BELINDA'S _arm, who playfully smacks it_). Go on.

BELINDA. Well, Mr. Robinson is a--sort of relation of yours; in fact-- (_playing with her rings and looking down coyly_)--he is your-- father. (_She looks up at_ DELIA _to see how the news is being received_.) (DELIA _gives a happy laugh_.)

Dear one, this is not a matter for mirth.

DELIA. Darling, it is lovely, isn't it? (_Sliding down to the seat of the Chesterfield next to_ BELINDA, _who moves along to make room for her_.) I am laughing because I am so happy.

BELINDA. Aren't you surprised?

DELIA. No. You see, Claude told me this morning. (BELINDA _displays annoyance_.) He found out just before Mr. Baxter.

BELINDA. Well! Every one seems to have known except me.

DELIA. Didn't you see how friendly father and I got at dinner? I thought I'd better start breaking the ice--because I suppose he'll be kissing me directly.

BELINDA. Say you like him.

DELIA. I think he's going to be awfully nice. (_She kisses_ BELINDA _and rises_.) Does he _know_ you know?

BELINDA. Not yet.

DELIA. Oh! (_She moves to the fireplace and warms her hands_.)

BELINDA. Just at present I've rather got Mr. Baxter on my mind. I suppose, darling, you wouldn't like him as well as Mr. Devenish! (_Pathetically_.) You see, they're so used to going about together.

DELIA. Claude is quite enough.

BELINDA. I think I must see Mr. Baxter and get it over. Do you mind if I have Mr. Devenish too? I feel more at home with both of them. I'll give you him back. Oh dear, I feel so happy to-night! (_She jumps up and goes to_ DELIA.) And is my little girl going to be happy too? That's what mothers always say on the stage. I think it's so sweet.

(_They move together to below table_.)

DELIA (_smiling at her_). Yes, I think so, mummy. Of course, I'm not romantic like you. I expect I'm more like father, really.

BELINDA (_dreamily_). Jack can be romantic now. He was telling me this morning all about the people he has proposed to. I mean, I was telling him. Anyhow, he wasn't a bit like a father. Of course, he doesn't know he is a father yet. Darling, I think you might take him into the garden; only don't let him know who he is. You see, he ought to propose to me first, oughtn't he?

(_The men come in from_ R. TREMAYNE _goes to the foot of the settee R., DEVENISH to the back of the table up_ R., _while_ BAXTER _stands at the back of the settee_. BELINDA _moves to the front of the settee and DELIA sits on the table_.)

Here you all are! I do hope you haven't been throwing away your cigars, because smoking is allowed all over the house.

TREMAYNE (_as he comes to the foot of the settee_). Oh, we've finished, thank you.

BELINDA (_going up to the swing doors and opening them_). Isn't it a wonderful night?--and so warm for April. Delia, you must show Mr. Robinson the garden by moonlight--it's the only light he hasn't seen it by.

DEVENISH (_quickly coming to_ R. _back of table_ C.). I don't think I've ever seen it by moonlight, Miss Delia.

BELINDA (_coming down a little_). I thought poets were always seeing things by moonlight.

BAXTER (_moving toward_ BELINDA). I was hoping, Mrs. Tremayne, that--er--perhaps-----

DELIA (_moving quickly to above_ TREMAYNE _and taking his_ L. _hand, and pulling him up stage to swing doors_). Come along, Mr. Robinson.

(TREMAYNE _looks at_ BELINDA, _who gives him a nod_. BELINDA _then moves down_ R.)

TREMAYNE (L. _of_ DELIA). It's very kind of you, Miss Robinson. I suppose there is no chance of a nightingale?

BELINDA. There ought to be. I ordered one specially for Mr. Devenish.

(DELIA _and_ TREMAYNE _go out together_. BELINDA, _with a sigh, moves over to the Chesterfield and settles herself comfortably into it_. DEVENISH, _annoyed by_ TREMAYNE'S _attentions to_ DELIA, _crosses up angrily and looks off through the window up_ L. _above fireplace, then comes down_ L. _of the Chesterfield to the front of the fireplace_. BAXTER _moves up to the swing doors angrily watching_ DELIA _and_ TREMAYNE, _then moves to the window_ R. _and looks off_. BETTY _then enters with a salver from_ R. _She moves by the back of the settee to the back of the table_ C., _picks up the coffee-cups and goes out_ R. BAXTER _then moves over to the window facing the audience, up_ L. _He looks off, then comes down to the_ R. _of_ BELINDA.)

Now we're together again. Well, Mr. Devenish?

DEVENISH. Er--I--

BELINDA. No; I think I'll let Mr. Baxter speak first. I know he's longing to.

BAXTER (_leaning on the back of the chair_ L. _of table--he clears his throat_). H'r'm! Mrs. Tremayne, I beg formally to claim your hand.

BELINDA (_sweetly_). On what grounds, Mr. Baxter?

DEVENISH (_spiritedly_). Yes, sir, on what grounds?

BAXTER (_coming to_ R. _of Chesterfield, close to_ BELINDA). On the grounds that, as I told you this morning, I had succeeded in the quest.

DEVENISH (_appearing to be greatly surprised_). Succeeded?

BAXTER. Yes, Mr. Devenish, young fellow, you have lost. (_He moves a few paces_ R. _to below the chair_ L. _of the table_.) I have discovered the missing Mr. Robinson.

DEVENISH (_wiping hit brow and coming to_ BAXTER). Who--where--

BAXTER (_dramatically_). Miss Robinson has at this moment gone out with her father.

DEVENISH (_placing his hands heavily on_ BAXTER'S _shoulders, who staggers_). Good heavens! It was he!

(_BAXTER pats_ DEVENISH _sympathetically and moves to the back of the Chesterfield and is about to speak to_ BELINDA. _She, however, silences him and he drops down to the front of the fireplace_.)

BELINDA (_sympathetically_). Poor Mr. Devenish!

DEVENISH (_pointing tragically to the table_). And to think that I actually sat on that table--no, that seat (_he points to the settee_ R., _then he moves up stage between it and the table_)-- that I sat there with him this morning, and never guessed! Why, ten minutes ago I was asking him for the nuts!

BAXTER. Aha, Devenish, you're not so clever as you thought you were.

DEVENISH (_coming quickly to the back of the chair_ L. _of the table_). Why, I must have given you the clue myself! He told me he had a scar on his arm, and I never thought any more of it. And then I went away innocently and left you two talking about it.

BELINDA (_alarmed_). A scar on his arm?

DEVENISH. Where a lion mauled him.

(BELINDA _gives a little cry and shudder_.)

BAXTER. It's quite healed up now, Mrs. Tremayne.

BELINDA (_looking at him admiringly_). A lion! What you two have adventured for my sake!

BAXTER. I suppose you will admit, Devenish, that I may fairly claim to have won?

(_Looking the picture of despair,_ DEVENISH _drops down_ L. _of the chair, droops his head, raises his arms and lets them fall hopelessly to his sides_.)

BELINDA. Mr. Devenish, I have never admired you so much as I do at this moment. (_She extends her_ R. _hand to_ DEVENISH, _who gropes for it with his_ L. _hand and eventually manages to seize it_.)

BAXTER (_noticing he is holding her hand, moving to them and looking at them quizzically--indignantly to_ DEVENISH). I say, you know, that's not fair. It's all very well to take your defeat like a man, but you mustn't overdo it. (_They release their hands_.) Mrs. Tremayne, I claim the reward which I have earned.

BELINDA (_after a pause and rising_). Mr. Baxter--Mr. Devenish, I have something to tell you.

(DEVENISH _moves to her_ R.)

(BELINDA _kneels upon the Chesterfield facing them. Penitently_.) I have not been quite frank with you. I think you both ought to know that-- I--I made a mistake. Delia is not my niece; she is my daughter. (_She buries her face in her hands_.)

DEVENISH. Your daughter! I say, how ripping!

(BELINDA _gives him an understanding look_.)

BAXTER. Your daughter!

BELINDA. Yes.

BAXTER. But--but you aren't old enough to have a daughter of that age.

BELINDA (_apologetically_). Well, there she is.

BAXTER. But--but she's grown up.

BELINDA. Quite.

BAXTER. Then in that case you must be----(_He hesitates, evidently working it out_.)

BELINDA (_hastily_). I'm afraid so, Mr. Baxter.

BAXTER. But this makes a great difference. I had no idea. Why, when I'm fifty you would be----

BELINDA (_sighing_). Yes, I suppose I should.

BAXTER. And when I'm sixty----

BELINDA (_pleadingly to_ DEVENISH). Can't you stop him?

DEVENISH (_with a threatening gesture_). Look here, Baxter, another word from you and you'll never _get_ to sixty.

BAXTER. And then there's Miss--er--Delia. In the event of our marrying, Mrs. Tremayne, she, I take it, would be my step-daughter.

BELINDA. I don't think she would trouble us much, Mr. Baxter. (_With a sly look at_ DEVENISH.) I have an idea that she will be getting married before long. (_She again glances at_ DEVENISH, _who returns her look gratefully_.)

BAXTER (_moving up_ L. _into the inner room_). None the less, the fact would be disturbing.

(DEVENISH _with a wink at_ BELINDA _crosses in front of her and warms his hands at the fire_. BELINDA _watches_ BAXTER _over the back of the Chesterfield_.)

I have never yet considered myself seriously as a step-father. (_Moving round the refectory table_.) I don't think I am going too far if I say that to some extent I have been deceived in this matter. (_He comes down to behind the_ C. _table_.)

BELINDA (_reproachfully_). And so have I. I thought you loved me.

DEVENISH (_sympathetically_). Yes, yes.

BELINDA (_turning to him suddenly_). And Mr. Devenish too.

BAXTER (_moving to_ BELINDA). Er----

DEVENISH. Er----

(_They stand before her guiltily and have nothing to say_.)

BELINDA (_with a shrug_). Well, I shall have to marry somebody else, that's all.

BAXTER (_moving to below table_). Who? Who?

BELINDA. I suppose Mr. Robinson. After all, if I am Delia's mother, and Mr. Baxter says that Mr. Robinson's her father, it's about time we _were_ married.

DEVENISH (_eagerly_). Mrs. Tremayne, what fools we are! He _is_ your husband all the time!

BELINDA. Yes.

BAXTER (_moving up to the_ R. _of_ BELINDA). You've had a husband all the time?

BELINDA (_apologetically_). I lost him; it wasn't my fault.

BAXTER. Really, this is very confusing. I don't know where I am. I gather--I am to gather, it seems, that you are no longer eligible as a possible wife?

BELINDA. I am afraid not, Mr. Baxter.

BAXTER. But this is very confusing--(_moving towards the swing doors_)--this is very disturbing to a man of my age. For weeks past I have been regarding myself as a--a possible benedict. I have--ah--taken steps. (_Back to the_ L. _end of the_ C. _table_.) Only this morning, in writing to my housekeeper, I warned her that she might hear at any moment a most startling announcement.

DEVENISH (_cheerfully_). Oh, that's all right. That might only mean that you were getting a new bowler-hat.

BAXTER (_dropping down_ L.C. _a few steps--suddenly_). Ah, and what about you, sir? How is it that you take this so lightly? (_Triumphantly_.) I have it. It all becomes clear to me. You have transferred your affections to her daughter!

DEVENISH. Oh, I say, Baxter, this is very crude.

BELINDA. And why should he not, Mr. Baxter? (_Softly_.) He has made me very happy.

BAXTER (_staggered_). He has made you happy, Mrs. Tremayne!

BELINDA. Very happy.

BAXTER (_thoughtfully_). Oh! Oh ho! Oh ho! (_He takes a turn up the room into the inner room, muttering to himself_. BELINDA _kneels and watches him over the back of the Chesterfield. Then he comes down again to her_ R. _side_.) Mrs. Tremayne, I have taken a great resolve. (_Solemnly_.) I also will make you happy. (_Thumping his heart_.) I also will woo Miss Delia.

BELINDA. Oh!

DEVENISH. Look here, Baxter--

BAXTER (_suddenly crossing and seizing_ DEVENISH'S _arm and pulling him towards the siding doors up_ R. _between the Chesterfield and the table_). Come, we will seek Miss Delia together.

(BELINDA _seizes_ DEVENISH'S _hand as he is passing and he, clinging to it, nearly pulls her off the Chesterfield. She is very amused_.)

It may be that she will send us upon another quest in which I shall again be victorious.

(BELINDA _releases her hand and slips down into the Chesterfield. Tempestuously_.)

Come, I say--

(_He marches the resisting_ DEVENISH _to the swing doors_.)

Let us put it to the touch, to win or lose it all.

DEVENISH (_turning and appealing to_ BELINDA). Please!

BELINDA (_gently_). Mr. Baxter... Harold.

(BAXTER _stops and turns round_.)

You are too impetuous. I think that as Delia's mother--

BAXTER (_coming down_ R. _to the foot of the_ C. _table_). Your pardon, Mrs. Tremayne. In the intoxication of the moment I am forgetting. (_Formally_.) I have the honour to ask your permission to pay my addresses--(_Moves to chair_ L. _of table_.)

BELINDA. No, no, I didn't mean that. But, as Delia's mother, I ought to warn you that she is hardly fitted to take the place of your housekeeper. She is not very domesticated.

BAXTER (_indignantly_). Not domesticated? (_Sits_ L. _of table_.) Why, did I not hear her tell her father at dinner that she had arranged all the flowers?

BELINDA. There are other things than flowers.

DEVENISH (_on_ BAXTER'S R., _behind the table_). Bed-socks, for instance, Baxter.

(BAXTER _is annoyed_.)

It's a very tricky thing airing bed-socks. I am sure your house-keeper--

BAXTER (_silencing_ DEVENISH). Mrs. Tremayne, she will learn. The daughter of such a mother... I need say no more.

BELINDA. Oh, thank you. But there is something else, Mr. Baxter. You are not being quite fair to yourself. In starting out upon this simultaneous wooing, you forget that Mr. Devenish has already had his turn--(DEVENISH _tries to stop her_. BAXTER _turns round and nearly catches him_.)--this morning alone. You should have yours ... alone ... too.

DEVENISH. Oh, I say!

BAXTER. Yes, yes, you are right. I must introduce myself first as a suitor. I see that. (_Rising, to_ DEVENISH.) You stay here; _I_ will go alone into the garden, and--(_Moving below table and up to the swing doors_.)

BELINDA. It is perhaps a little cold out of doors for people of ... of our age, Mr. Baxter. Now, in the library--

BAXTER (_at the swing doors, turning to her, astonished_). Library?

BELINDA. Yes.

BAXTER (_moving down_ R. _a little_). You have a library?

BELINDA (_to_ DEVENISH). He doesn't believe I have a library.

DEVENISH. You ought to see the library, Baxter.

BAXTER (_moving more down to below_ R. _of table_). But you are continually springing surprises on me this evening, Mrs. Tremayne. First a daughter, then a husband, and then--a library! I have been here three weeks, and I never knew you had a library. Dear me, I wonder how it is that I never saw it?

BELINDA (_modestly, rising_). I thought you came to see _me_.

BAXTER. Yes, yes, to see you, certainly. But if I had known you had a library ....

BELINDA. Oh, I am so glad I mentioned it. Wasn't it lucky, Mr. Devenish?

BAXTER. My work has been greatly handicapped of late.

(DELIA _and_ TREMAYNE _enter the garden from up_ L. _and pass the window at the back_.)

BELINDA (_sweetly_). By me?

BAXTER. I was about to say by lack of certain books to which I wanted to refer. It would be a great help. (_He moves up R, reflectively muttering "Library."_)

BELINDA (_moving below and to_ R. _of_ C. _table_). My dear Mr. Baxter, my whole library is at your disposal. (_She turns to_ DEVENISH, _who is on her_ L., _and at the back of the table. She speaks in a confidential whisper_.) I'm just going to show him the Encyclopedia Britannica. (_She moves below the settee to the door_ R.) You won't mind waiting--Delia will be in directly.

(BAXTER, _still muttering "Library," crosses to the door and opens it for her. She goes out and he follows her_. DEVENISH _moves to the R. of the swing doors and welcomes_ DELIA _and_ TREMAYNE. TREMAYNE _enters from the portico and holds open the swing doors for_ DELIA.)

DELIA (_speaking from the portico_). Hullo, we're just coming in.

(_They enter and_ DELIA _moves down_ R. _of the table_.)

TREMAYNE. Where's Mrs. Tremayne?

DEVENISH (_moving to down_ R.). She's gone to the library with Baxter.

TREMAYNE (_coming down on_ DELIA'S R. _side--carelessly_). Oh, the library. Where's that?

DEVENISH (_promptly going towards the door, opening it and standing above it_). The end door on the right.

(DELIA _sits on the_ R. _end of the table facing_ R.)

Right at the end. You can't mistake it. On the right.

TREMAYNE. Ah, yes. (_He looks round at_ DELIA, _who points significantly at the door twice_.) Yes. (_He looks at_ DEVENISH.) Yes. (_He goes out_.)

(DEVENISH _hastily shuts the door and comes back to_ DELIA.)

DEVENISH. I say, your mother is a ripper.

DELIA (_enthusiastically_). Isn't she! (_Remembering_.) At least, you mean my aunt?

DEVENISH (_smiling at her_). No, I mean your mother. To think that I once had the cheek to propose to her.

DELIA. Oh! Is it cheek to propose to people!

DEVENISH. To _her_.

DELIA. But not to me?

DEVENISH. Oh I say, Delia!

DELIA (_with great dignity_). Thank you, my name is Miss Robinson-- I mean, Tremayne.

DEVENISH. Well, if you're not quite sure which it is, it's much safer to call you Delia.

DELIA (_smiling_). Well, perhaps it is.

DEVENISH. And if I did propose to you, you haven't answered

DELIA (_sitting in the chair_ R. _of the table_). If you want an answer now, it's no; but if you like to wait till next April-----

DEVENISH (_moving up to behind table--reproachfully_). Oh, I say, and I cut my hair for you the same afternoon. (_Turning quickly_.) You haven't really told me how you like it yet.

DELIA. Oh, how bad of me! You look lovely.

DEVENISH (_sitting at back of the table_). And I promised to give up poetry for your sake.

DELIA. Perhaps I oughtn't to have asked you that.

DEVENISH. As far as I'm concerned, Delia, I'll do it gladly, but, of course, one has to think about posterity.

DELIA. But you needn't be a poet. You could give posterity plenty to think about if you were a statesman.

DEVENISH. I don't quite see your objection to poetry.

DELIA. You would be about the house so much. I want you to go away every day and do great things, and then come home in the evening and tell me all about it.

DEVENISH. Then you _are_ thinking of marrying me!

DELIA. Well, I was just thinking in case I had to.

DEVENISH (_he rises and taking her hands, raises her from the chair. She backs a step to_ R.). Do. It would be rather fun if you did. And look here--(_he pulls her gently back. They both sit on the table. He places his arm round her waist_)--I _will_ be a statesman, if you like, and go up to Downing Street every day, and come back in the evening and tell you all about it.

DELIA. How nice of you!

DEVENISH (_magnificently, holding up his_ L. _hand to Heaven_). Farewell, Parnassus!

DELIA (_pulling down his hand_). What does that mean?

DEVENISH. Well, it means that I've chucked poetry. A statesman's life is the life for me; behold Mr. Devenish, the new M.P.--(_she holds up her_ L. _hand admonishingly and he laughs apologetically _)--no, look here, that was quite accidental.

DELIA (_smiling at him_). I believe I shall really like you when I get to know you.

DEVENISH. I don't know if it's you, or Devonshire, or the fact that I've had my hair cut, but I feel quite a different being from what I was three days ago.

DELIA. You _are_ different. (_They both rise from the table. She pulls him to_ R. _one step_.) Perhaps it's your sense of humour coming back.

DEVENISH. Perhaps that's it. It's a curious feeling.

DELIA (_pulling him towards the swing doors_). Let's go outside; there's a heavenly moon.

DEVENISH. Moon? Moon? Now where have I heard that word before?

DELIA. What _do_ you mean?

DEVENISH. I was trying not to be a poet.

(DELIA _opens the doors_.)

Well, I'll come with you, but I shall refuse to look at it. (_Putting his_ L. _hand behind his back, he walks slowly out with her, saying to himself_) The Prime Minister then left the House.

(_They cross the windows at the back and go off_ L.)

(BELINDA _and_ TREMAYNE _come from the library, the latter holding the door for her to pass_.)

BELINDA (_moving below the settee across the room_). Thank you. I don't think it's unkind to leave him, do you? He seemed quite happy.

TREMAYNE (_following her_). I shouldn't have been happy if we'd stayed.

BELINDA (_reaching the Chesterfield she puts her feet up. Her head it towards_ L.). Yes, but I was really thinking of Mr. Baxter.

TREMAYNE (_above table_ C.). Not of me?

BELINDA. Well, I thought it was Mr. Baxter's turn. Poor man, he's had a disappointment lately.

TREMAYNE (_coming to B. of the Chesterfield--eagerly_). A disappointment?

BELINDA. Yes, he thought I was--younger than I was.

TREMAYNE (_smiling to himself_). How old are you, Belinda?

BELINDA (_dropping her eyes_). Twenty-two. (_After a pause_.) He thought I was eighteen. Such a disappointment!

TREMAYNE (_smiling openly at her_). Belinda, how old are you?

BELINDA. Just about the right age, Mr. Robinson.

TREMAYNE. The right age for what?

BELINDA. For this sort of conversation.

TREMAYNE. Shall I tell you how old you are?

BELINDA. Do you mean in figures or--poetically?

TREMAYNE. I meant-----

BELINDA. Mr. Devenish said I was as old as the--now, I must get this the right way round--as old as the-----

TREMAYNE. I don't want to talk about Mr. Devenish.

BELINDA (_with a sigh_). Nobody ever does--except Mr. Devenish. As old as the stars, and as young as the dawn. (_Settling herself cosily_.) I think that's rather a nice age to be, don't you?

TREMAYNE. A very nice age to be.

BELINDA. It's a pity he's thrown me over for Delia; I shall miss that sort of thing rather. You don't say those sort of things about your aunt-in-law----not so often.

TREMAYNE (_eagerly_). He really is in love with Miss Robinson!

BELINDA. Oh yes. I expect he is out in the moonlight with her now, comparing her to Diana.

TREMAYNE. Well, that accounts for _him. _Now what about Baxter?

BELINDA. I thought I told you. Deeply disappointed to find that I was four years older than he expected, Mr. Baxter hurried from the drawing-room and buried himself in a column of the _Encyclopedia Britannica_.

TREMAYNE. Well, that settles Baxter. Are there any more men in the neighbourhood?

BELINDA (_shaking her head_). Isn't it awful? I've only had those two for the last three weeks.

(TREMAYNE _sits on the back of the Chesterfield and looks down at her_.)

TREMAYNE. Belinda.

BELINDA. Yes, Henry!

TREMAYNE. My name is John.

BELINDA. Well, you never told me. I had to guess. Everybody thinks they can call me Belinda without giving me the least idea what their own names are. You were saying, John?

TREMAYNE. My friends call me Jack.

BELINDA. Jack Robinson. That's the man who always goes away so quickly. I hope you're making more of a stay?

TREMAYNE (_seizing her by both arms_). Oh, you maddening, maddening woman!

BELINDA. Well, I have to keep the conversation going. You do nothing but say "Belinda."

TREMAYNE (_taking her hand_). Have you ever loved anybody seriously, Belinda?

BELINDA. I don't ever do anything very seriously. The late Mr. Tremayne, my first husband--Jack---- Isn't it funny, _his_ name was Jack--he used to complain about it too sometimes.

TREMAYNE (_with conviction_). Silly ass!

BELINDA. Ah, I think you are a little hard on the late Mr. Tremayne.

TREMAYNE. Belinda, I want you to marry me and forget about him.

BELINDA (_happily to herself and lying back_). This is the proposal that those lamb cutlets interrupted this morning.

TREMAYNE. Belinda, I love you--do you understand?

BELINDA. Suppose my first husband turns up suddenly like--like E. A.?

TREMAYNE. Like who?

BELINDA. Well, like anybody.

TREMAYNE. He won't--I know he won't. Don't you love me enough to risk it, Belinda?

BELINDA. I haven't really said I love you at all yet.

TREMAYNE. Well, say it now.

(BELINDA _looks at him, and then down again_.)

You do! Well, I'm going to have a kiss, anyway, (_He kisses her quickly--moves to_ L. _of Chesterfield_.) There!

BELINDA (_rising_). O-oh I The late Mr. Tremayne never did that. (_She powders her nose_.)

TREMAYNE. I have already told you that he was a silly ass. (_He makes a move as if to kiss her again_.)

BELINDA (_holding up her hand and sitting on the_ R. _side of the Chesterfield_). I shall scream for Mr. Baxter.

TREMAYNE (_sitting down on the Chesterfield, on her_ L, _side_.) Belinda----

BELINDA. Yes, Henry--I mean, Jack?

TREMAYNE. Do you know who I am! (_He is thoroughly enjoying the surprise he is about to give her_.)

BELINDA (_nodding_). Yes, Jack.

TREMAYNE. Who?

BELINDA. Jack Tremayne.

TREMAYNE (_jumping up_). Good heavens, you _know_!

BELINDA (_gently_). Yes, Jack.

TREMAYNE (_angrily_). You've known all the time that I was your husband, and you've been playing with me and leading me on.

BELINDA (_mildly_). Well, darling, you knew all the time that I was your wife, and you've been making love to me and leading me on.

TREMAYNE. That's different.

BELINDA (_to herself_). That's just what the late Mr. Tremayne said, and then he slammed the door and went straight off to the Rocky Mountains and shot bears; and I didn't see him again for eighteen years.

TREMAYNE (_remorsefully_). Darling, I was a fool then, and I'm a fool now.

BELINDA. I was a fool then, but I'm not such a fool now--I'm not going to let you go. It's quite time I married and settled down.

TREMAYNE. You darling I (_He kisses her_.) How did you find out who I was?

BELINDA (_awkwardly_). Well, it was rather curious, darling. (_After a pause_.) It was April, and I felt all sort of Aprily, and--and--there was the garden all full of daffodils--and--and there was Mr. Baxter--the one we left in the library--knowing all about moles. He's probably got the M. volume down now. Well, we were talking about them one day, and I happened to say that the late Mr. Tremayne--that was you, darling--had rather a peculiar one on his arm. And then he happened to see it this morning and told me about it.

TREMAYNE. What an extraordinary story!

BELINDA. Yes, darling; it's really much more extraordinary than that. I think perhaps I'd better tell you the rest of it another time. (_Coaxingly_.) Now show me where the nasty lion scratched you.

(TREMAYNE _pulls up his sleeve_.) Oh! (_She kisses his arm_.) You shouldn't have left Chelsea, darling.

TREMAYNE. I should never have found you if I hadn't.

BELINDA (_squeezing his arm_). No, Jack, you wouldn't. (_After a pause_.) I--I've got another little surprise for you if--if you're ready for it. (_Standing up and moving to the chair_ L. _of the table_.) Properly speaking, I ought to be wearing white. I shall certainly stand up while I'm telling you. (_Modestly_.) Darling, we have a daughter--our little Delia. (_He is standing in front of the fireplace_.)

TREMAYNE. Delia? You said her name was Robinson.

BELINDA. Yes, darling, but you said yours was. One always takes one's father's name. Unless, of course, you were Lord Robinson.

TREMAYNE. But you said her name was Robinson before you--

(_She makes a playful move_.)

--Oh, never mind about that. A daughter? Belinda, how could you let me go and not tell me?

BELINDA. You forget how you'd slammed the door. It isn't the sort of thing you shout through the window to a man on his way to America.

TREMAYNE (_taking her in his arms_). Oh, Belinda, don't let me ever go away again.

(DEVENISH _and_ DELIA _enter from up_ L. _and pass the windows on the way to the swing doors_.)

BELINDA. I'm not going to, Jack. I'm going to settle down into a staid old married woman.

TREMAYNE. Oh no, you're not. You're going on just as you did before. And I'm going to propose to you every April, and win you, over all the other men in love with you.

BELINDA. You darling! (_They embrace_.)

(DELIA _and_ DEVENISH _come in from the garden_.)

TREMAYNE (_quietly to_ BELINDA). Our daughter.

DELIA (_going up to_ TREMAYNE). You're my father.

TREMAYNE. If you don't mind very much, Delia.

DELIA. You've been away a long time.

TREMAYNE. I'll do my best to make up for it.

BELINDA. Delia, darling, I think you might kiss your poor old father.

(_As the does to,_ DEVENISH _suddenly and hastily kisses_ BELINDA _on the cheek_.)

DEVENISH. Just in case you're going to be my mother-in-law.

TREMAYNE. We seem to be rather a family party.

BELINDA (_suddenly_). There! (_Moving to the door_ L.) We've forgotten Mr. Baxter again.

BAXTER (_who has come in quietly with a book in his hand_). Oh, don't mind about me, Mrs. Tremayne. I've enjoyed myself immensely. (_He crosses to the arm-chair below the fireplace and places it in front of the fire_.)

(BELINDA _and_ TREMAYNE _move up into the inner room by the refectory table and embrace, their backs to_ BAXTER. DELIA _and_ DEVENISH _are by the swing doors. They also embrace, their backs to_ BAXTER.)

(_Referring to his book_.) I have been collecting some most valuable information on (looking round at them and sitting in the arm-chair and continuing to read) lunacy in the--er--county of Devonshire.

(_The_ CURTAIN _falls_.)