(_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
