[It is morning in BELINDA'S hall, a low-roofed, oak-beamed place,
comfortably furnished as a sitting-room. There is an inner and an outer
front-door, both of which are open.]
[DEVENISH, who has just rung the bell, is waiting with a bouquet of
violets between the two. Midway on the right is a door leading to a
small room where hats and coats are kept. A door on the left leads
towards the living-rooms.]
BETTY. Good morning, sir.
DEVENISH. Good morning. I am afraid this is an unceremonious hour for a
call, but my sense of beauty urged me hither in defiance of convention.
BETTY. Yes, sir.
DEVENISH (holding up his bouquet to BETTY). See, the dew is yet
lingering upon them; how could I let them wait until this afternoon?
BETTY. Yes, sir; but I think the mistress is out.
DEVENISH. They are not for your mistress; they are for Miss Delia.
BETTY. Oh, I beg your pardon, sir. If you will come in, I'll see if I
can find her. (She brings him in and goes away to find DELIA.)
(DEVENISH tries a number of poses about the room for himself and his
bouquet, and finally selects one against the right side of the door by
which he has just come in.)
[Enter DELIA from the door on the left.]
DELIA (shutting the door and going _to_ DEVENISH). Oh, good morning, Mr.
Devenish. I'm afraid my--er--aunt is out.
DEVENISH. I know, Miss Delia, I know.
DELIA. She'll be so sorry to have missed you. It is her day for you,
isn't it?
DEVENISH. Her day for me?
DELIA. Yes; Mr. Baxter generally comes to-morrow, doesn't he?
DEVENISH. Miss Delia, if our friendship is to progress at all, it can
only be on the distinct understanding that I take no interest whatever
in Mr. Baxter's movements.
DELIA. Oh, I'm so sorry; I thought you knew. What lovely flowers! Are
they for my aunt?
DEVENISH. To whom does one bring violets? To modest, shrinking, tender
youth.
DELIA. I don't think we have anybody here like that.
DEVENISH (with a bow). Miss Delia, they are for you.
DELIA. Oh, how nice of you! But I'm afraid I oughtn't to take them from
you under false pretences; I don't shrink.
DEVENISH. A fanciful way of putting it, perhaps. They are none the less
for you.
DELIA. Well, it's awfully kind of you. I'm afraid I'm not a very
romantic person. Aunt Belinda does all the romancing in our family.
DEVENISH. Your aunt is a very remarkable woman.
DELIA. She is. Don't you dare to say a word against her.
DEVENISH. My dear Miss Delia, nothing could be further from my thoughts.
Why, am I not indebted to her for that great happiness which has come to
me in these last few days?
DELIA (surprised). Good gracious! and I didn't know anything about it.
But what about poor Mr. Baxter?
DEVENISH (stiffly). I must beg that Mr. Baxter's name be kept out of our
conversation.
DELIA. But I thought Mr. Baxter and you--do tell me what's happened. I
seem to have lost myself.
DEVENISH. What has happened, Miss Delia, is that I have learnt at last
the secret that my heart has been striving to tell me for weeks past. As
soon as I saw that gracious lady, your aunt, I knew that I was in love.
Foolishly I took it for granted that it was she for whom my heart was
thrilling. How mistaken I was! Directly you came, you opened my eyes,
and now--
DELIA. Mr. Devenish, you don't say you're proposing to me?
DEVENISH. I am. I feel sure I am. Delia, I love you.
DELIA. How exciting of you!
DEVENISH (with a modest shrug). It's nothing; I am a poet.
DELIA. You really want to marry me?
DEVENISH. Such is my earnest wish.
DELIA. But what about my aunt?
DEVENISH (simply). She will be my aunt-in-law.
DELIA. She'll be rather surprised.
DEVENISH. Delia, I will be frank with you. I admit that I made Mrs.
Tremayne an offer of marriage.
DELIA (excitedly). You really did? Was it that first afternoon I came?
DEVENISH. Yes.
DELIA. Oh, I wish I'd been there!
DEVENISH (with dignity). It is not my custom to propose in the presence
of a third party. It is true that on the occasion you mention a man
called Baxter was on the lawn, but I regarded him no more than the old
apple-tree or the flower-beds, or any other of the fixtures.
DELIA. What did she say?
DEVENISH. She accepted me conditionally.
DELIA. Oh, do tell me!
DEVENISH. It is rather an unhappy story. This man called Baxter in his
vulgar way also made a proposal of marriage. Mrs. Tremayne was gracious
enough to imply that she would marry whichever one of us fulfilled a
certain condition.
DELIA. How sweet of her!
DEVENISH. It is my earnest hope, Miss Delia, that the man called
Baxter will be the victor. As far as is consistent with honour, I shall
endeavour to let Mr. Baxter (banging the table with his hand) win.
DELIA. What was the condition?
DEVENISH. That I am not at liberty to tell. It is, I understand, to be a
surprise for you.
DELIA. How exciting!... Mr. Devenish, you have been very frank. May I be
equally so? (DEVENISH bows.) Why do you wear your hair so long?
DEVENISH (pleased). You have noticed it?
DELIA. Well, yes, I have.
DEVENISH. I wear it so to express my contempt for the conventions of
so-called society.
DELIA. I always thought that people wore it very very short if they
despised the conventions of society.
DEVENISH. I think that the mere fact that my hair annoys Mr. Baxter is
sufficient justification for its length.
DELIA. But if it annoys me too?
DEVENISH (heroically). It shall go.
DELIA (apologetically). I told you I wasn't a very romantic person,
didn't I? (Kindly.) You can always grow it again if you fall in love
with somebody else.
DEVENISH. That is cruel of you, Delia. I shall never fall in love again.
[Enter BELINDA in a hat.]
BELINDA. Why, it's Mr. Devenish! How nice of you to come so early in the
morning! How is Mr. Baxter?
DEVENISH. I do not know, Mrs. Tremayne.
BELINDA (to DELIA). I got most of the things, Delia. (To DEVENISH.) "The
things," Mr. Devenish, is my rather stuffy way of referring to all the
delightful poems that you are going to eat to-night.
DEVENISH. I am looking forward to it immensely, Mrs. Tremayne.
BELINDA. I do hope I've got all your and Mr. Baxter's favourite dishes.
DEVENISH. I'm afraid Mr. Baxter and I are not likely to appreciate the
same things.
BELINDA (coyly). Oh, Mr. Devenish! And you were so unanimous a few days
ago.
DELIA. I think Mr. Devenish was referring entirely to things to eat.
BELINDA. I felt quite sad when I was buying the lamb cutlets. To think
that, only a few days before, they had been frisking about with their
mammas, and having poems written about them by Mr. Devenish. There! I'm
giving away the whole dinner. Delia, take him away before I tell him any
more. We must keep some surprises for him.
DELIA (to DEVENISH as she picks up the flowers). Come along, Mr.
Devenish.
BELINDA (wickedly). Are those my flowers, Mr. Devenish?
DEVENISH (after a little hesitation, with a bow which might refer to
either of them). They are for the most beautiful lady in the land.
BELINDA. Oh, how nice of you!
[DEVENISH follows DELIA out through the door on the left.]
BELINDA (unpinning her hat before a mirror). I suppose he means
Delia--bless them! (She gives a few pats to her hair and then walks
about the room singing softly to herself. She does to the front-door
and looks happily out into the garden. Suddenly she sees MR. BAXTER
approaching. She hurries back into a chair and pretends to be very busy
reading.)
BAXTER (rather nervously). Er--may I come in, Mrs. Tremayne?
BELINDA (dropping her book and turning round with a violent start). Oh,
Mr. Baxter, how you surprised me! (She puts her hand to her heart.)
BAXTER. I must apologize for intruding upon you at this hour, Mrs.
Tremayne.
BELINDA (holding up her hand). Stop!
BAXTER (startled). What?
BELINDA. I cannot let you come in like that.
BAXTER (looking down at himself). Like what?
BELINDA (dropping her eyes). You called me Belinda once.
BAXTER (coming down to her). May I explain my position, Mrs. Tremayne?
BELINDA. Before you begin--have you been seeing my niece lately?
BAXTER (surprised). No.
BELINDA. Oh! (Sweetly.) Please go on.
BAXTER. Why, is _she_ lost too?
BELINDA. Oh no; I just--Do sit down. Let me put your hat down somewhere
for you.
BAXTER (keeping it firmly in his hand, and sitting down on the sofa). It
will be all right here, thank you.
BELINDA (returning to her chair). I'm dying to hear what you are going
to say.
BAXTER. First as regards the use of your Christian name. I felt that,
as a man of honour, I could not permit myself to use it until I had
established my right over that of Mr. Devenish.
BELINDA. All my friends call me Belinda.
BAXTER. As between myself and Mr. Devenish the case is somewhat
different. Until one of us is successful over the other in the quest
upon which you have sent us, I feel that as far as possible we should
hold aloof from you.
BELINDA (pleadingly). Just say "Belinda" once more, in case you're a
long time.
BAXTER (very formally). Belinda.
BELINDA. How nicely you say it--Harold.
BAXTER (half getting out of his seat). Mrs. Tremayne, I must not listen
to this.
BELINDA (meekly). I won't offend again, Mr. Baxter. Please go on. Tell
me about the quest; are you winning?
BAXTER. I am progressing, Mrs. Tremayne. Indeed, I came here this
morning to acquaint you with the results of my investigations. Yesterday
I located a man called Robinson working upon a farm close by. I ventured
to ask him if he had any marks upon him by which he could be recognized.
He adopted a threatening attitude, and replied that if I wanted any he
could give me some. With the aid of half-a-crown I managed to placate
him. Putting my inquiry in another form, I asked if he had any moles.
A regrettable misunderstanding, which led to a fruitless journey to
another part of the village, was eventually cleared up, and on my return
I satisfied myself that this man was in no way related to your niece.
BELINDA (admiringly). How splendid of you! Well, now, we know _he's_
not. (She holds up one finger.)
BAXTER. Yes. In the afternoon I located another Mr. Robinson following
the profession of a carrier. My first inquiries led to a similar
result, with the exception that in this case Mr. Robinson carried his
threatening attitude so far as to take off his coat and roll up his
sleeves. Perceiving at once that he was not the man, I withdrew.
BELINDA. How brave you are! That makes two. (She holds up another
finger). It still leaves a good many. (Pleadingly.) Just call me Belinda
again.
BAXTER (nervously). You mustn't tempt me, Mrs. Tremayne.
BELINDA (penitently). I won't!
BAXTER. To resume, then, my narrative. This morning I have heard of a
third Mr. Robinson. Whether there is actually any particular fortune
attached to the number three I cannot say for certain. It is doubtful
whether statistics would be found to support the popular belief. But one
likes to flatter oneself that in one's own case it may be true; and so--
BELINDA. And so the third Mr. Robinson--?
BAXTER. Something for which I cannot altogether account inspires me with
hope. He is, I have discovered, staying at Mariton. This afternoon I go
to look for him.
BELINDA (to herself). Mariton! How funny! I wonder if it's the same one.
BAXTER. What one?
BELINDA. Oh, just one of the ones. (Gratefully.) Mr. Baxter, you are
doing all this for _me_.
BAXTER. Pray do not mention it. I don't know if it's Devonshire, or the
time of the year, or the sort of atmosphere you create, Mrs. Tremayne,
but I feel an entirely different man. There is something in the air
which--yes, I shall certainly go over to Mariton this afternoon.
BELINDA (gravely). I have had the same feeling sometimes, Mr. Baxter. I
am not always the staid respectable matron which I appear to you to
be. Sometimes I--(She looks absently at the watch on her wrist.) Good
gracious!
BAXTER (alarmed). What is it!
BELINDA (looking anxiously from the door to him). Mr. Baxter, I'm going
to throw myself on your mercy.
BAXTER. My dear Mrs. Tremayne--
BELINDA (looking at her watch again). A strange man will be here
directly. He must not find you with me.
BAXTER (rising, jealously). A man?
BELINDA (excitedly). Yes, yes, a man! He is pursuing me with his
attentions. If he found you here, there would be a terrible scene.
BAXTER. I will defend you from him.
BELINDA. No, no. He is a big man. He will--he will overpower you.
BAXTER. But you--?
BELINDA. I can defend myself. I will send him away. But he must not find
you here. You must hide before he overpowers you.
BAXTER (with dignity). I will withdraw if you wish it.
BELINDA. No, not withdraw, hide. He might see you withdrawing. (Leading
the way to a door on the right) Quick, in here.
BAXTER (embarrassed at the thought that this sort of thing really only
happens in a bedroom farce). I don't think I quite--
BELINDA (reassuring him). It's perfectly respectable; it's where we keep
the umbrellas. (She takes him by the hand.)
BAXTER (still resisting). I'm not at all sure that I--
BELINDA (earnestly). Oh, but don't you see what _trust_ I'm putting in
you? Some people are so nervous about their umbrellas.
BAXTER. Well, of course, if you--but I don't see why I shouldn't just
slip out of the door before he comes.
BELINDA (reproachfully). Of course, if you grudge me every little
pleasure--Quick! Here he is.
(She bundles him through the door, and with a sigh of happiness comes
back and looks at herself in the mirror. She goes to the front-door,
moves her hand to somebody in the distance, and comes into the hall
again. Seeing MR. BAXTER'S bowler hat on the sofa, she carries across to
his door, knocks, hands it to him, saying, "Your hat. S'sh!" and returns
to her chair. TREMAYNE comes in.)
TREMAYNE (at the door). It's no good your pretending to be surprised,
because you said I could come.
BELINDA (welcoming him). But I can still be surprised that you wanted to
come.
TREMAYNE Oh no, you aren't.
BELINDA (marking it off on her fingers). Just a little bit--that much.
TREMAYNE. It would be much more surprising if I hadn't come.
BELINDA (sitting down on the sofa). It is a pretty garden, isn't it?
TREMAYNE (sitting down next to her). You forget that I saw the garden
yesterday.
BELINDA. Oh, but the things have grown so much since then. Let me see,
this is the third day you've been and we only met three days ago. And
then you're coming to dinner again to-night.
TREMAYNE (eagerly). Am I?
BELINDA. Yes. Haven't you been asked?
TREMAYNE. No, not a word.
BELINDA. Yes, that's quite right; I remember now, I only thought of it
this morning, so I couldn't ask you before, could I?
TREMAYNE (earnestly). What made you think of it then?
BELINDA (romantically). It was at the butcher's. There was one little
lamb cutlet left over and sitting out all by itself, and there was
nobody to love it. And I said to myself, suddenly, "I know, that will do
for Mr. Robinson." (Prosaically.) I do hope you like lamb?
TREMAYNE. I adore it.
BELINDA. Oh, I'm so glad! When I saw it sitting there I thought you'd
love it. I'm afraid I can't tell you any more about the rest of the
dinner, because I wouldn't tell Mr. Devenish, and I want to be fair.
TREMAYNE. Who's Mr. Devenish?
BELINDA. Oh, haven't you met him? He's always coming here.
TREMAYNE Is he in love with you too?
BELINDA. Too? Oh, you mean Mr. Baxter.
TREMAYNE. Confound it, that's three!
BELINDA (innocently). Three? (She looks up at him and down again.)
TREMAYNE. Who is Mr. Baxter?
BELINDA. Oh, haven't you met him? He's always coming here.
TREMAYNE. Who is Mr. Baxter?
BELINDA. Oh, he's a sort of statistician. Isn't that a horrid word to
say? So stishany.
TREMAYNE. What does he make statistics about?
BELINDA. Oh, umbrellas and things. Don't let's talk about him.
TREMAYNE. All right, then; who is Mr. Devenish?
BELINDA. Oh, he's a poet. (She throws up her eyes and sighs deeply.) Ah
me!
TREMAYNE. What does he write poetry about? (BELINDA looks at him, and
down again, and then at him again, and then down, and gives a little
sigh--all of which means, "Can't you guess?") What does he write poetry
about?
BELINDA (obediently). He wrote "The Lute of Love and other Poems, by
Claude Devenish." The Lute of Love--(To herself.) I haven't been saying
that lately. (With great expression.) The Lute of Love--the Lute. (She
pats her mouth back.)
TREMAYNE. And what is Mr. Devenish--
BELINDA (putting her hand on his sleeve). You'll let me know when it's
my turn, won't you?
TREMAYNE. Your turn?
BELINDA. Yes, to ask questions. I love this game--it's like clumps. (She
crosses her hands on her lap and waits for the next question.)
TREMAYNE. I beg your pardon. I--er--of course have no right to
cross-examine you like this.
BELINDA. Oh, do go on, I love it. (With childish excitement.) I've got
my question ready.
TREMAYNE (smiling). I think perhaps it _is_ your turn.
BELINDA (eagerly). Is it really? (He nods.) Well then--_who_ is Mr.
Robinson?
TREMAYNE (alarmed). What?
BELINDA. I think it's a fair question. I met you three days ago and you
told me you were staying at Mariton. Mariton. You can say it all right
now, can't you?
TREMAYNE. I think so.
BELINDA (coaxingly). Just say it.
TREMAYNE. Mariton.
BELINDA (clapping her hands). Lovely! I don't think any of the villagers
do it as well as that.
TREMAYNE. Well?
BELINDA. Well, that was three days ago. You came the next day to see the
garden, and you came the day after to see the garden, and you've come
this morning--to see the garden; and you're coming to dinner to-night,
and it's so lovely, we shall simply have to go into the garden
afterwards. And all I know about you is that you _haven't_ any relations
called Robinson.
TREMAYNE. What do I know about Mrs. Tremayne but that she _has_ a
relation called Robinson?
BELINDA. And two dear friends called Devenish and Baxter.
TREMAYNE (annoyed). I was forgetting them.
BELINDA (to herself). I mustn't forget Mr. Baxter.
TREMAYNE (getting up). But what does it matter? What would it matter if
I knew nothing about you? I know everything about you--everything that
matters.
BELINDA (closing her eyes contentedly). Tell me some of them.
TREMAYNE (bending over her earnestly). Belinda--
BELINDA (still with her eyes shut). He's going to propose to me. I can
feel it coming.
TREMAYNE. Confound it! how many men _have_ proposed to you?
BELINDA (surprised). Since when?
TREMAYNE. Since your first husband proposed to you.
BELINDA. Oh, I thought you meant this year. (Sitting up.) Well now,
let me see. (Slowly and thoughtfully.) One. (She pushes up her first
finger.) Two. (She pushes up the second.) Three. (She pushes up the
third finger, holds it there for a moment and then pushes it gently down
again.) No, I don't think that one ought to count really. (She pushes
up two more fingers and the thumb.) Three, four, five--do you want the
names or just the total?
TREMAYNE. This is horrible.
BELINDA (innocently). But anybody can propose. Now if you'd asked how
many I'd accepted--Let me see, where was I up to? I shan't count yours,
because I haven't really had it yet. Six, seven--Yes, Betty, what is it?
[BETTY has just come in from the door on the left.]
BETTY. If you please, ma'am, cook would like to speak to you for a
minute.
BELINDA (getting up). Yes, I'll come. (To TREMAYNE.) You'll forgive me,
won't you? You'll find some cigarettes there. (She starts to go,
but comes back and adds confidentially) It's probably about the lamb
cutlets; I expect your little one refuses to be cooked.
[She goes out after BETTY.]
(Left alone, TREMAYNE stalks moodily about the room, occasionally
kicking things which come in his way. He takes up his hat suddenly and
goes towards the door; stops irresolutely and comes back. He is standing
in the middle of the room with his hands in his pockets when DEVENISH
comes in from the door on the left.)
DEVENISH (surprised). Hullo!
TREMAYNE Hullo!... Are you Mr. Devenish?
DEVENISH. Yes.
TREMAYNE. Devenish the poet?
DEVENISH (coming up and shaking him warmly by the hand). My dear fellow,
you know my work?
TREMAYNE (grimly). My dear Mr. Devenish, your name is most familiar to
me.
DEVENISH. I congratulate you. I thought your great-grandchildren would
be the first to hear of me.
TREMAYNE. My name's Robinson, by the way.
DEVENISH. Then let me return the compliment, Robinson. Your name is
familiar to _me_.
TREMAYNE (hastily). I don't think I'm related to any Robinsons you know.
DEVENISH. Well, no, I suppose not. When I was very much younger I began
a collection of Robinsons. Actually it was only three days ago, but it
seems much longer. Many things have happened since then.
TREMAYNE (uninterested). Really!
DEVENISH. There is a man called Baxter who is still collecting,
I believe. For myself, I am only interested in one of the great
family--Delia.
TREMAYNE (eagerly). You are interested in _her_?
DEVENISH. Devotedly. In fact, I am at this moment waiting for her to put
on her hat.
TREMAYNE (warmly). My dear Devenish, I am delighted to make your
acquaintance. (He seizes his hand and grips it heartily.) How are you?
DEVENISH (feeling his fingers). Fairly well, thanks.
TREMAYNE. That's right. (They sit on the sofa together.)
DEVENISH (still nursing his hand). You are a very lucky fellow,
Robinson.
TREMAYNE. In what way?
DEVENISH. People you meet must be so very reluctant to say good-bye to
you. Have you ever tried strangling lions or anything like that?
TREMAYNE (with a laugh). Well, as a matter of fact, I have.
DEVENISH. I suppose you won all right?
TREMAYNE. In the end, with the help of my beater.
DEVENISH. Personally I should have backed you alone against any two
ordinary lions.
TREMAYNE. One was quite enough. As it was, he gave me something to
remember him by. (Putting up his left sleeve, he displays a deep scar.)
DEVENISH (looking at it casually). By Jove, that's a nasty one! (He
suddenly catches sight of the mole and stares at it fascinated.) Good
heavens!
TREMAYNE. What's the matter?
DEVENISH (clasping his head). Wait. Let me think. (After a pause.) Have
you ever met a man called Baxter?
TREMAYNE. No.
DEVENISH. Would you like to?
TREMAYNE (grimly). Very much indeed.
DEVENISH. He's the man I told you about who's interested in Robinsons.
He'll be delighted to meet you. (With a nervous laugh.) Funny thing,
he's rather an authority on lions. You must show him that scar of yours;
it will intrigue him immensely. (Earnestly.) _Don't_ shake hands with
him too heartily just at first; it might put him off the whole thing.
TREMAYNE. This Mr. Baxter seems to be a curious man.
DIVENISH (absently). Yes, he is rather odd. (Looking at his watch.) I
wonder if I--(To TREMAYNE.) I suppose you won't be--(He stops suddenly.
A slight tapping noise comes from the room where they keep umbrellas.)
TREMAYNE. What's that!
(The tapping noise is repeated, a little more loudly this time.)
DEVENISH. Come in.
(The door opens and BAXTER comes in nervously, holding his bowler hat in
his hand.)
BAXTER. Oh, I just--(TREMAYNE _stands up_)--I just--(He goes back again.)
DEVENISH (springing across the room). Baxter! (The door opens nervously
again and BAXTER'S head appears round it.) Come in, Baxter, old man;
you're just the very person I wanted. (BAXTER comes in carefully.) Good
man. (To TREMAYNE) This is Mr. Baxter that I was telling you about.
TREMAYNE (much relieved at the appearance of his rival). Oh, is this Mr.
Baxter? (Holding out his hand with great friendliness) How are you, Mr.
Baxter?
DEVENISH (warningly). Steady! (TREMAYNE shakes BAXTER quite gently by
the hand.) Baxter, this is Mr. Robinson. (Casually.) R-o-b-i-n-s-o-n.
(He looks sideways at BAXTER to see how he takes it. BAXTER is
noticeably impressed.)
BAXTER. Really? I am very glad to meet you, sir.
TREMAYNE. Very good of you to say so.
DEVENISH (to BAXTER). Robinson is a great big-game hunter.
BAXTER. Indeed? I have never done anything in that way myself, but I'm
sure it must be an absorbing pursuit.
TREMAYNE. Oh, well, it's something to do.
DEVENISH (to BAXTER). You must get him to tell you about a wrestle
he had with a lion once. Extraordinary story! (Looking at his watch
suddenly.) Jove! I must be off. See you again, Baxter. Good-bye,
Robinson. No, don't shake hands. I'm in a hurry. [He looks at his watch
again and goes out hurriedly by the door on the left.]
(TREMAYNE sit down together on the sofa.)
TREMAYNE. Unusual man, your friend Devenish. I suppose it comes of being
a poet.
BAXTER. I have no great liking for Mr. Devenish--
TREMAYNE. Oh, he's all right.
BAXTER. But I am sure that if he is impressed by anything outside
himself or his own works, it must be something rather remarkable. Pray
tell me of your adventure with the lion.
TREMAYNE (laughing). Really, you mustn't think that I go about telling
everybody my adventures. It just happened to come up. I'm afraid I shook
his hand rather more warmly than I meant, and he asked me if I'd ever
tried strangling lions. That was all.
BAXTER. And had you?
TREMAYNE. Well, it just happened that I had.
BAXTER. Indeed! You came off scathless, I trust?
TREMAYNE (carelessly indicating his arm). Well, he got me one across
there.
BAXTER (obviously excited). Really, really. One across there. Not bad, I
hope?
TREMAYNE (laughing). Well, it doesn't show unless I do that. (He pulls
up his sleeve carelessly and BAXTER bends eagerly over his arm.)
BAXTER. Good heavens! I've found it!
TREMAYNE. Found what? (He pulls down his sleeve.)
BAXTER. I must see Mrs. Tremayne. Where's Mrs. Tremayne?
TREMAYNE. She went out just now. What's the matter?
BAXTER. Out! I must find her. This is a matter of life and death. [He
seizes his hat and hurries out by the front door.]
(TREMAYNE stares after him in amazement. Then he pulls up his sleeve,
looks at his scar again and shakes his head. While he is still puzzling
over it, BELINDA comes back.)
BELINDA. Such a to-do in the kitchen! The cook's given notice--at least
she will directly--and your lamb cutlet slipped back to the shop when
nobody was looking, and I've got to go into the village again, and oh
dear, oh dear, I have such a lot of things to do! (Looking across at MR.
BAXTER'S door.) Oh yes, that's another one. Mr. Robinson, you will have
to leave me. Farewell.
TREMAYNE. Belinda--
BELINDA. No, not even Belinda. Wait till this evening.
TREMAYNE. I have a thousand things to say to you; I shall say them this
evening.
BELINDA (giving him her hand). Begin about eight o'clock. Good-bye till
then.
[He takes her hand, looks at her for a moment, then suddenly bends and
kisses it, and out.]
(BELINDA stands looking from her hand to him, gives a little wondering
exclamation and then presses the back of her hand against her cheek, and
goes to the swing doors. She turns back, and remembers MR. BAXTER again.
With a smile she goes to the door and taps gently.)
BELINDA. Mr. Baxter, Mr. Baxter, you may come in now; he has withdrawn.
I have unhanded him. (She opens the door and finds the room empty.) Oh!
[BAXTER comes in at the front door.]
BAXTER. Ah, there you are!
BELINDA (turning with a start). Oh, how you frightened me, Mr. Baxter!
I couldn't think what had happened to you. I thought perhaps you'd been
eaten up by one of the umbrellas.
BAXTER. Mrs. Tremayne, I have some wonderful news for you. I have found
Miss Robinson's father.
BELINDA (hardly understanding). Miss Robinson's father?
BAXTER. Yes. _Mr_. Robinson.
BELINDA. Oh, you mean--Oh yes, he told me his name was Robinson--Oh, but
he's no relation.
BAXTER. Wait! I saw his arm. By a subterfuge I managed to see his arm.
BELINDA (her eyes opening more and more widely as she begins to
realize). You saw--
BAXTER. I saw the mole.
BELINDA (faintly as she holds out her own arm). Show me.
BAXTER (very decorously indicating). There!
(BELINDA holds the place with her other hand, and still looking at MR.
BAXTER, slowly begins to laugh--half-laughter, half-tears, wonderingly,
happily, contentedly.)
BELINDA. And I didn't know!
BAXTER. Mrs. Tremayne, I am delighted to have done this service for your
niece--
BELINDA (to herself). Of course, _he_ knew all the time.
BAXTER (to the world). Still more am I delighted to have gained the
victory over Mr. Devenish in this enterprise.
BELINDA. Eighteen years--but I _ought_ to have known.
BAXTER (at large). I shall not be accused of exaggerating when I say
that the odds against such an enterprise were enormous.
BELINDA. Eighteen years--And now I've eight whole _hours_ to wait!
BAXTER (triumphantly). It will be announced to-night. "Mr. Devenish," I
shall say, "young fellow--" (He arranges his speech in his mind.)
BELINDA. So I was right, after all! (Slowly and triumphantly.) He _does_
look better without a beard!
BAXTER (making his speech). "Mr. Devenish, young fellow, when you
matched yourself against a man of my repute, when you matched yourself
against a man"--(BELINDA has slipped out, to enjoy her happiness
alone)--"who has read papers at soirées of the Royal Statistical
Society; when--er--"
[He looks round the room and discovers to his amazement that he is
alone. He claps on his bowler-hat, gives another amazed look round, says
with a shrug, "Unusual!" and goes out.]