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 Baxter, you may come in now; he has withdrawn.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 soires 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.]
ACT III
[It is after dinner in BELINDA'S hall. BELINDA is lying on the sofa with a coffee-cup in her hand. DELIA, in the chair on the right, has picked up "The Lute of Love" from a table and is reading it impatiently.]
DELIA. What rubbish he writes!
BELINDA (coming back from her thoughts). Who, dear?
DELIA. Claude--Mr. Devenish. 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! (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. Mummy, look me in the eye and tell me you are not being bad.
BELINDA (innocently). Bad, darling?
DELIA. 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.
