a quest that is passing strange. Know ye that there is a maid journeyed hither, hight Robinson--whose--(_in her natural voice_) what's the old for aunt?
BAXTER (_hopefully_). Mother's sister.
BELINDA. You know, I think I shall have to explain this in ordinary language. You won't mind very much, will you, Mr. Devenish?
DEVENISH. It is the spirit of this which matters, not the language which clothes it.
BELINDA. Oh, I'm so glad you think so. Well, now about Miss Robinson. She's my niece and she's just come to stay with me, and--poor girl-- she's lost her father. Absolutely lost him. He disappeared ever such a long time ago, and poor Miss Robinson--Delia--naturally wants to find him. Poor girl! she _can't_ think where he is.
DEVENISH (_nobly_). I will find him.
BELINDA. Oh, thank you, Mr. Devenish; Miss Robinson would be so much obliged.
BAXTER. Yes--er--but what have we to go upon? Beyond the fact that his name is Robinson--
BELINDA. I shouldn't go on _that_ too much. You see, he may easily have changed it by now. He was never very much of a Robinson. Nothing to do with Peter or any of those.
DEVENISH. I will find him.
BAXTER (_with a look of annoyance at_ DEVENISH). Well, can you tell us what he's like?
BELINDA. Well, it's such a long time since I saw him. (_Looking down modestly_.) Of course, I was quite a girl then. The only thing I know for certain is that he has a mole on his left arm about here. (_She indicates a spot just below the elbow_. BAXTER _examines it closely_.)
DEVENISH (_folding his arms and looking nobly upwards_). I will find him.
BAXTER. I am bound to inform you, Mrs. Tremayne, that even a trained detective could not give you very much hope in such a case. However, I will keep a look-out for him, and, of course, if--
DEVENISH. Fear not, lady, I will find him.
BAXTER (_annoyed_). Yes, you keep on saying that, but what have you got to go on?
DEVENISH (_grandly_). Faith! The faith which moves mountains.
BELINDA. Yes, and this is only just one small mole-hill, Mr. Baxter.
BAXTER. Yes, but still--
BELINDA. S'sh! here is Miss Robinson.
(BAXTER _takes up his hat and moves below the deck-chair to_ R. _to meet_ DELIA.)
If Mr. Devenish will hold the hammock while I alight--we don't want an accident--
(DELIA _comes out of the house_.)
--I can introduce you. (_He helps her to get out, holding the hammock_.) Thank you. Delia darling (DELIA _moves down_ R.) this is Mr. Baxter,--and Mr. Devenish. My niece, Miss Robinson--
(DELIA _shakes hands with_ BAXTER _and moves to_ C. _below_ BELINDA _and shakes hands with_ DEVENISH.)
DELIA. How do you do?
BELINDA. Miss Robinson has just come over from France. _Man Dieu, quel pays!_
BAXTER. I hope you had a good crossing, Miss Robinson.
DELIA. Oh, I never mind about the crossing. (_Very slowly and shyly_.) Aunt Belinda----(_She stops and smiles_.)
BELINDA. Yes, dear?
DELIA. I believe tea is almost ready. I want mine, and I'm sure Mr. Baxter's hungry. (_He sniggers approvingly_.) Mr. Devenish scorns food, I expect.
DEVENISH (_hurt_). Why do you say that?
DELIA. Aren't you a poet?
BELINDA. Yes, darling, but that doesn't prevent him eating. He'll be absolutely lyrical over Betty's sandwiches.
DEVENISH. You won't deny me that inspiration, I hope, Miss Robinson.
BELINDA (_taking_ DELIA'S_ arm and moving with her to below deck- chair_). Well, let's go and see what they're like.
(DELIA _moves up_ R.C. _to below the porch, accompanied by_ BAXTER _on her_ R. _and_ DEVENISH, _who follows her on her_ L. _They all move towards the porch_.)
Mr. Baxter, just a moment.
BAXTER (_apologizing to_ DELIA _and moving in front of the others to back of deck-chair_.) Yes?
(DELIA _gathers a daffodil from a vase_ R. _and places it in _DEVENISH'S_ buttonhole_.)
BELINDA (_secretly_). Not a word to her about Mr. Robinson. It must be a surprise for her.
BAXTER. Quite so, I understand.
BELINDA. That's right. (BAXTER _rejoins_ DELIA. _Raising her voice_.) Oh, Mr. Devenish.
(DEVENISH, _who is evidently much attracted by_ DELIA, _apologizes to her and goes back between tree and hammock to_ L. _of_ BELINDA.)
DEVENISH. Yes, Mrs. Tremayne?
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_. TREMAYNE _enters from_ L. _and with his back to the audience tries latch of imaginary gate below scenic painted gateway_ L. BELINDA _turns her head, hearing imaginary click of the garden gate_ L. _She comes slowly back_ R.C.)
BELINDA (_seeing_ TREMAYNE). 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
