BELINDA (secretly). Not a word to her about Mr. Robinson. It must be a surprise for her.
DEVENISH. Of course! I shouldn't dream--(Indignantly.) Robinson! _What_ an unsuitable name!
[BAXTER _and_ DELIA _are just going into the house.]
BELINDA (dismissing DEVENISH). All right, I'll catch you up.
[DEVENISH goes after the other two.]
(Left alone, BELINDA _laughs happily to herself, and then begins to look rather aimlessly about her. She picks up her sunshade and opens it. She comes to the hammock, picks out her handkerchief, says, "Ah, there you are!" and puts it away. She goes slowly towards the house, turns her head just as she comes to the door, and comes slowly back again. She stops at the table looking down the garden.)
BELINDA (to herself). Have you lost yourself, or something? No; the latch is this side. ... Yes, that's right.
[TREMAYNE comes in. He has been knocking about the world for eighteen years, and is very much a man, though he has kept his manners. His hair is greying a little at the sides, and he looks the forty-odd that he is. Without his moustache and beard he is very different from the boy BELINDA married.]
TREMAYNE (with his hat in his hand). I'm afraid I'm trespassing.
BELINDA (winningly). But it's such a pretty garden (turns away, dosing her parasol), isn't it?
TREMAYNE (rather confused). I-I beg your pardon, I-er-- (He is wondering if it can possibly be she. BELINDA thinks his confusion is due to the fact that he is trespassing, and hastens to put him at his ease.)
BELINDA. I should have done the same myself, you know.
TREMAYNE (pulling himself together). Oh, but you mustn't think I just came in because I liked the garden--
BELINDA (clapping her hands). No; but say you do like it, quick.
TREMAYNE. It's lovely and--(He hesitates.)
BELINDA (hopefully). Yes?
TREMAYNE (with conviction). Yes, it's lovely.
BELINDA (with that happy sigh of hers). O-oh! ... Now tell me what really did happen?
TREMAYNE. I was on my way to Marytown--
BELINDA. To where?
TREMAYNE. Marytown.
BELINDA. Oh, you mean Mariton.
TREMAYNE. Do I?
BELINDA. Yes; we always call it Mariton down here. (Earnestly.) You don't mind, do you?
TREMAYNE (smiling). Not a bit.
BELINDA. Just say it--to see if you've got it right.
TREMAYNE. Mariton.
BELINDA (shaking her head). Oh no, that's quite wrong. Try it again (With a rustic accent.) Mariton.
TREMAYNE. Mariton.
BELINDA. Yes, that's much better. ... (As if it were he who had interrupted.) Well, do go on.
TREMAYNE. I'm afraid it isn't much of an apology really. I saw what looked like a private road, but what I rather hoped wasn't, and-- well, I thought I'd risk it. I do hope you'll forgive me.
BELINDA. Oh, but I love people seeing my garden. Are you staying in Mariton?
TREMAYNE. I think so. Oh yes, decidedly.
BELINDA. Well, perhaps the next time the road won't feel so private.
TREMAYNE. How charming of you! (He feels he must know.) Are you Mrs. Tremayne by any chance?
BELINDA. Yes.
TREMAYNE (nodding to himself). Yes.
BELINDA. How did you know?
TREMAYNE (hastily inventing). They use you as a sign-post in the village. Past Mrs. Tremayne's house and then bear to the left--
BELINDA. And you couldn't go past it?
TREMAYNE. I'm afraid I couldn't. Thank you so much for not minding. Well, I must be getting on, I have trespassed quite enough.
BELINDA (regretfully). And you haven't really seen the garden yet.
TREMAYNE. If you won't mind my going on this way, I shall see some more on my way out.
BELINDA. Please do. It likes being looked at. (With the faintest suggestion of demureness) All pretty things do.
TREMAYNE. Thank you very much. Er--(He hesitates.)
BELINDA (helpfully). Yes?
TREMAYNE. I wonder if you'd mind very much if I called one day to thank you formally for the lesson you gave me in pronunciation?
BELINDA (gravely). Yes. I almost think you ought to. I think it's the correct thing to do.
TREMAYNE (contentedly). Thank you very much, Mrs. Tremayne.
BELINDA. You'll come in quite formally by the front-door next time, won't you, because--because that seems the only chance of my getting to know your name.
TREMAYNE. Oh, I beg your pardon. My name is--er--er--Robinson.
BELINDA (laughing). How very odd!
TREMAYNE (startled). Odd?
BELINDA. Yes; we have someone called Robinson staying in the house. I wonder if she is any relation?
TREMAYNE (hastily). Oh no, no. No, she couldn't be. I have no relations called Robinson--not to speak of.
BELINDA (holding out her hand). You must tell me all about your relations when you come and call, Mr. Robinson.
TREMAYNE. I think we can find something better worth talking about than that.
BELINDA. Do you think so? (He says "Yes" with his eyes, bows, and goes off down the garden. BELINDA stays looking after him, then gives that happy sigh of hers, only even more so) O-oh!
[Enter
