Belinda
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A. A. Milne >> Belinda
DEVENISH. Harold.
(BAXTER _displays annoyance, and continues his walk to_ L.)
BAXTER. It is only by accident--an accident which we both deplore--that
we have met at all, and in any case I am a considerably older man than
yourself. (_Sits_ L.)
DEVENISH. Mr. Baxter--father--(_gesture of annoyance from_ BAXTER)--
I have a proposal to make. We will leave it to this beautiful flower to
decide which of us the lady loves.
BAXTER (_turning round_). Eh?
DEVENISH (_pulling off the petals_). She loves me, she loves Mr.
Baxter, she loves me, she loves Mr. Baxter--(BELINDA _appears in the
porch_)--Heaven help her!--she loves me--
BELINDA (_coming down_ R.). What are you doing, Mr. Devenish!
DEVENISH (_throwing away the flower and bowing very low_). My lady.
(BAXTER _rises quickly_.)
BAXTER (removing his bowler-hat stiffly). Good afternoon, Mrs. Tremayne.
(_She gives her left hand to_ DEVENISH, _who kisses it, and her
right to_ BAXTER, _who shakes it_.)
BELINDA. How nice of you both to come!
BAXTER. Mr. Devenish and I are inseparable--apparently.
BELINDA. You haven't told me what you were doing, Mr. Devenish. Was it
(_plucking an imaginary flower_) "This year, next year?" or "Silk,
satin--"
DEVENISH. My lady, it was even more romantic than that. I have the
honour to announce to your ladyship that Mr. Baxter is to be a sailor.
(_Dances round imitating the hornpipe_.)
BELINDA (_to_ BAXTER). Doesn't he talk nonsense?
BAXTER. He'll grow out of it. I did.
BELINDA (_moving down_ R. _and then to centre towards
hammock_). Oh, I hope not. I love talking nonsense, and I'm ever so
old. (_As they both start forward to protest_.) Now which one of
you will say it first?
DEVENISH. You are as old as the stars and as young as the dawn.
BAXTER. You are ten years younger than I am.
BELINDA. What sweet things to say! I don't know which I like best.
DEVENISH. Where will my lady sit!
BELINDA (_with an exaggerated curtsy_). I will recline in the
hammock, an it please thee, my lord------
(BAXTER _goes to the right of the hammock, saying_ "Allow me."
DEVENISH _moves to the left of the hammock and holds it, takes up a
cushion which_ BAXTER _snatches from him and places in hammock
again_.)
--only it's rather awkward getting in, Mr. Baxter. Perhaps you'd both
better look at the tulips for a moment.
BAXTER. Oh--ah--yes. (_Crosses down_ R., _turns his back to the
hammock and examines the flowers_.)
DEVENISH (leaning over her). If only------
BELINDA. You'd better not say anything, Mr. Devenlsh. Keep it for your
next volume. (_He turns away and examines flowers on_ L. _She
sits on hammock_.) One, two, three--(_throws her legs over_)--
that was better than last time. (_They turn round to see her safely in
the hammock_. DEVENISH _leans against the_ L. _tree at her feet,
and_ BAXTER _draws the deck-chair from the right side of the table
and turns it round towards her. He presses his hat more firmly on
and sits down_.) I wonder if either of you can guess what I've been
reading this afternoon!
DEVENISH (_looking at her lovingly_). I know.
BELINDA (_giving him a fleeting look_). How did you know?
DEVENISH. Well, I-----
BELINDA (_to_ BAXTER). Yes, Mr. Baxter, it was your article I was
reading. If you'd come five minutes earlier you'd have found me
wrestling--I mean revelling in it.
BAXTER. I am very greatly honoured, Mrs. Tremayne. Ah--it seemed to me a
very interesting curve showing the rise and fall of-----
BELINDA. I hadn't got up to the curves. They _are_ interesting,
aren't they? They are really more in Mr. Devenish's line. (_To_
DEVENISH.) Mr. Devenish, it was a great disappointment to me that all
the poems in your book seemed to be written to somebody else.
DEVENISH. It was before I met you, lady. They were addressed to the
goddess of my imagination. It is only in these last few weeks that I
have discovered her.
BELINDA. And discovered she was dark and not fair.
DEVENISH. She will be dark in my next volume.
BELINDA. Oh, how nice of her!
BAXTER (_kindly_). You should write a real poem to Mrs. Tremayne.
BELINDA (_excitedly_). Oh do! "To Belinda." I don't know what
rhymes, except cinder. You could say your heart was like a cinder--all
burnt up.
DEVENISH (_pained_). Oh, my lady, I'm afraid that is a cockney
rhyme.
BELINDA. How thrilling! I've never been to Hampstead Heath.
DEVENISH. "Belinda." It is far too beautiful to rhyme with anything but
itself.
BELINDA. Fancy! But what about Tremayne? (_Singing_.) Oh, I am Mrs.
Tremayne, and I don't want to marry again.
DEVENISH (_protesting_). My lady!
BAXTER (_protesting_). Belinda!
BELINDA (_pointing excitedly to_ BAXTER). There, that's the first
time he's called me Belinda! This naughty boy--(_indicating_
DEVENISH)--is always doing it--by accident.
DEVENISH. Are you serious?
BELINDA. Not as a rule.
DEVENISH. You're not going to marry again?
BELINDA. Well, who could I marry?
DEVENISH and BAXTER (_together_). Me!
BELINDA (_dropping her eyes modestly_). But this is England.
BAXTER (_rising and taking off his hat, which he places on table, and
going up to_ BELINDA). Mrs. Tremayne, I claim the right of age--of my
greater years--to speak first.
DEVENISH. Mrs. Tremayne, I--
BELINDA (_kindly to_ DEVENISH). You can speak afterwards, Mr.
Devenish. It's so awkward when you both speak together. (_To_
BAXTER, _giving encouragement_.) Yes?
BAXTER (_moving down a little and then returning to_ BELINDA). Mrs.
Tremayne, I am a man of substantial position--(DEVENISH _sniggers--
to_ BAXTER'S _great annoyance_.) and perhaps I may say of some
repute in serious circles.
(DEVENISH _sniggers again_.)
All that I have, whether of material or mental endowment, I lay at your
feet, together with an admiration which I cannot readily put into words.
As my wife I think you would be happy, and I feel that with you by my
side I could achieve even greater things.
BELINDA. How sweet of you! But I ought to tell you that I'm no good at
figures.
DEVENISH (_protesting_). My lady--
BELINDA. I don't mean what you mean, Mr. Devenish. You wait till it's
your turn. (_To_ BAXTER.) Yes?
BAXTER (_very formally_). I ask you to marry me, Belinda.
BELINDA (_settling herself happily and closing her eyes_). O-oh!...
Now it's _your_ turn, Mr. Devenish.
DEVENISH (_excitedly_). Money--thank Heaven, I have no money.
Reputation--thank Heaven, I have no reputation.
(BAXTER, _very annoyed, moves down and sits on deck-chair_.)
What can I offer you? Dreams--nothing but dreams. Come with me and I
will show you the world through my dreams. What can I give you? Youth,
freedom, beauty--
BAXTER. Debts.
BELINDA (_still with her eyes shut_). You mustn't interrupt, Mr.
Baxter.
DEVENISH (_leaning across hammock_). Belinda, marry me and I will
open your eyes to the beauty of the world. Come to me!
BELINDA (_happily_). O-oh! You've got such different ways of
putting things. How can I choose between you?
DEVENISH. Then you will marry one of us?
BELINDA. You know I really _oughtn't_ to.
BAXTER. I don't see why not.
BELINDA. Well, there's just a little difficulty in the way.
DEVENISH. What is it? I will remove it. For you I could remove anything
--yes, even Baxter. (_He looks at_ BAXTER, _who is sitting more
solidly than ever in his chair_.)
BELINDA. And anyhow I should have to choose between you.
DEVENISH (_in a whisper_), choose me.
BAXTER (_stiffly_). Mrs. Tremayne does not require any prompting. A
fair field and let the best man win.
DEVENISH (_going across to and slapping the astonished_ BAXTER
_on the back_). Aye, let the best man win! Well spoken, Baxter.
(BAXTER _is very annoyed. To_ BELINDA _and going back to her_
L.) Send us out into the world upon some knightly quest, lady, and let
the victor be rewarded.
BAXTER. I--er--ought to say that I should be unable to go very far. I
have an engagement to speak at Newcastle on the 2lst.
DEVENISH. Baxter, I will take no unfair advantage of you. Let the beard
of the Lord Mayor of Newcastle be the talisman that my lady demands; I
am satisfied.
BAXTER. This sort of thing is entirely contrary to my usual mode of
life, but I will not be outfaced by a mere boy. (_Rising_.) I am
prepared. (_Going to her_.)
DEVENISH. Speak, lady.
BELINDA (_speaking in a deep, mysterious voice_). Gentlemen, ye put
wild thoughts into my head. In sooth, I _am_ minded to send ye
forth upon 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 ( _with his hat in his hand _). I'm afraid I'm
trespassing.
BELINDA (_winningly, moving down_ R. _a little _). But it's
such a pretty garden (_turns away, dosing her parasol_), isn't it?
(TREMAYNE, _half recognizing her, moves to back of hammock and leans
across to obtain a better view of her_.)
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 (_points_ L.), 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. A piano is
heard off playing "Belinda." The tune is continued until the fall of the
curtain_.) Are you Mrs. Tremayne by any chance?
BELINDA. Yes.
TREMAYNE (_nodding to himself_). Yes.
BELINDA. How did _you_ know?
TREMAYNE (_hastily inventing, moving down_ L. _below the
hammock_). They use you as a sign-post in the village. Past Mrs.
Tremayne'a 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.
(_Going up to the_ L. _of her_.) 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. (_Turns to go up c_.) 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 (_pointing to_ R. _with
her sunshade_) 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.
(_She is highly amused and looks round towards the house, recalling to
her mind_ DELIA.)
BELINDA (_laughing_). How very odd!
TREMAYNE (_startled_). Odd?
BELINDA. Yes; we have some one called Robinson (_nodding towards the
house_) 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. 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
moves up_ C. _The piano is now forte. BELINDA accompanies him up a
little, then stops. He turns in entrance up C., and they exchange
glances_. TREMAYNE _exits to_ R., _behind yew hedge. BELINDA
stays looking after him, then moves down to back of table and picking up
the book of poems, gives that happy sigh of hers, only even more
so_.) O-oh!
(_Enter_ BETTY _from porch_.)
BETTY. If you please, ma'am, Miss Delia says, are you coming in to tea?
BELINDA (_looking straight in front of her, and taking no notice
of_ BETTY, _in a happy, dreamy voice_). Betty, ... about
callers .... If Mr. Robinson calls--he's the handsome gentleman who
hasn't been here before (_puts book down_)--you will say, "Not at
home." And he will say, "Oh!" And you will say, "I beg your pardon,
sir, was it Mr. Robinson?" And he will say, "Yes!" And you will say,
"Oh, I beg your pardon, sir---" (_Almost as if she were BETTY, she
begins to move towards the house_.) "This way---" (_she would be
smiling an invitation over her shoulder to_ MR. ROBINSON, _if he
were there, and she were_ BETTY)--"please!" (_And the abandoned
woman goes in to tea_.)
CURTAIN
ACT II
_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. Up_ C. _is a door leading
to a small room where hats and coats are kept. A door on the_ L.
_leads towards the living-rooms_.
DEVENISH _enters from up_ L. _at back, passes the windows of the
inner room and crosses to the porch. He rings the electric bell outside,
then enters through the swing doors_ R.C. BETTY _enters_ R.
_and moves up at back of settee_ R. _to_ DEVENISH _by the swing
doors. He is carrying a large bunch of violets and adopts a very aesthetic
attitude_.
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 crosses to the door_ R. _and goes away to
find_ DELIA, _dosing the door after her_.)
(DEVENISH _tries a number of poses about the room for himself and hit
bouquet. He crosses below the table_ C. _and sits_ L. _of it
and is about to place his elbow on the table when he finds the toy dog
which has been placed there is in his way. He removes it to the centre
of the table and then leans with his elbow on table and finds this pose
unsuitable so he crosses to above the fireplace and leans against the
upper portico, resting on his elbow which slips and nearly prostrates
him. He then crosses up to_ L. _of the cupboard door at back centre
and leans on his elbow against the wall_.)
(_Enter_ DELIA _from the door_ R.)
DELIA (_shutting the door and going to_ DEVENISH). Oh, good
morning, Mr. Devenish.
[Illustration :]
(DEVENISH _kisses her hand_.)
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 (_jealously_). Miss Delia, if our friendship is to
progress at all, it can only be on the distinct understanding that I
take no interest whatever (_coming to back of table_ C.) in Mr.
Baxter's movements.
DELIA (_moving down_ R. _a little_). 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 and holding out the violets to her_). Miss
Delia, they are for you.
DELIA (_smelling and taking violets_). 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. (_Puts flowers down. Then she
moves up to the cupboard. He follows on her_ L. _and opens the
door_.) I'm afraid I'm not a very romantic person. (_Turning to him
in cupboard doorway_.) 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. (_Takes up a
vase from a chair in cupboard and shakes it as if draining it_.)
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. (_Coming down to_ R. _of table with vase_.) But what
about poor Mr. Baxter?
DEVENISH (_stiffly, crossing over to fireplace, very annoyed_). I
must beg that Mr. Baxter's name be kept out of our conversation.
DELIA (_going up to table behind Chesterfield up_ L.). But I
thought Mr. Baxter and you were such friends.
(DELIA _takes water carafe from the table and smiles at_ DEVENISH--
_which he does not see_.)
Do tell me what's happened. (_Moving down to_ R. _of table_ C.,
_she sits and arranges the flowers_.) I seem to have lost myself.
DEVENISH (_coming to the back of_ C. _table and reclining on
it_.) 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. (_Leaning towards her_.) 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. (_Sits_.) 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, rising and moving to_ L. _of table_).
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.