(BELINDA seizes DEVENISH'S hand as he is passing and he, clinging to it, nearly pulls her off the Chesterfield. She is very amused.)
It may be that she will send us upon another quest in which I shall again be victorious.
(BELINDA releases her hand and slips down into the Chesterfield. Tempestuously.)
Come, I say—
(He marches the resisting DEVENISH to the swing doors.)
Let us put it to the touch, to win or lose it all.
DEVENISH (turning and appealing to BELINDA). Please!
BELINDA (gently). Mr. Baxter…Harold.
(BAXTER stops and turns round.)
You are too impetuous. I think that as Delia's mother—
BAXTER (coming down R. to the foot of the C. table). Your pardon, Mrs. Tremayne. In the intoxication of the moment I am forgetting. (Formally.) I have the honour to ask your permission to pay my addresses—(Moves to chair L. of table.)
BELINDA. No, no, I didn't mean that. But, as Delia's mother, I ought to warn you that she is hardly fitted to take the place of your housekeeper. She is not very domesticated.
BAXTER (indignantly). Not domesticated? (Sits L. of table.) Why, did I not hear her tell her father at dinner that she had arranged all the flowers?
BELINDA. There are other things than flowers.
DEVENISH (on BAXTER'S R., behind the table). Bed–socks, for instance, Baxter.
(BAXTER is annoyed.)
It's a very tricky thing airing bed–socks. I am sure your house–keeper—
BAXTER (silencing DEVENISH). Mrs. Tremayne, she will learn. The daughter of such a mother…I need say no more.
BELINDA. Oh, thank you. But there is something else, Mr. Baxter. You are not being quite fair to yourself. In starting out upon this simultaneous wooing, you forget that Mr. Devenish has already had his turn—(DEVENISH tries to stop her. BAXTER turns round and nearly catches him.)—this morning alone. You should have yours … alone … too.
DEVENISH. Oh, I say!
BAXTER. Yes, yes, you are right. I must introduce myself first as a suitor. I see that. (Rising, to DEVENISH.) You stay here; I will go alone into the garden, and—(Moving below table and up to the swing doors.)
BELINDA. It is perhaps a little cold out of doors for people of … of our age, Mr. Baxter. Now, in the library—
BAXTER (at the swing doors, turning to her, astonished). Library?
BELINDA. Yes.
BAXTER (moving down R. a little). You have a library?
BELINDA (to DEVENISH). He doesn't believe I have a library.
DEVENISH. You ought to see the library, Baxter.
BAXTER (moving more down to below R. of table). But you are continually springing surprises on me this evening, Mrs. Tremayne. First a daughter, then a husband, and then—a library! I have been here three weeks, and I never knew you had a library. Dear me, I wonder how it is that I never saw it?
BELINDA (modestly, rising). I thought you came to see me.
BAXTER. Yes, yes, to see you, certainly. But if I had known you had a library … .
BELINDA. Oh, I am so glad I mentioned it. Wasn't it lucky, Mr. Devenish?
BAXTER. My work has been greatly handicapped of late.
(DELIA and TREMAYNE enter the garden from up L. and pass the window at the back.)
BELINDA (sweetly). By me?
BAXTER. I was about to say by lack of certain books to which I wanted to refer. It would be a great help. (He moves up R, reflectively muttering "Library.")
BELINDA (moving below and to R. of C. table). My dear Mr. Baxter, my whole library is at your disposal. (She turns to DEVENISH, who is on her L., and at the back of the table. She speaks in a confidential whisper.) I'm just going to show him the Encyclopedia Britannica. (She moves below the settee to the door R.) You won't mind waiting—Delia will be in directly.
(BAXTER, still muttering "Library," crosses to the door and opens it for her. She goes out and he follows her. DEVENISH moves to the R. of the swing doors and welcomes DELIA and TREMAYNE. TREMAYNE enters from the portico and holds open the swing doors for DELIA.)
DELIA (speaking from the portico). Hullo, we're just coming in.
(They enter and DELIA moves down R. of the table.)
TREMAYNE. Where's Mrs. Tremayne?
DEVENISH (moving to down R.). She's gone to the library with Baxter.
TREMAYNE (coming down on DELIA'S R. side—carelessly). Oh, the library. Where's that?
DEVENISH (promptly going towards the door, opening it and standing above it). The end door on the right.
(DELIA sits on the R. end of the table facing R.)
Right at the end. You can't mistake it. On the right.
TREMAYNE. Ah, yes. (He looks round at DELIA, who points significantly at the door twice.) Yes. (He looks at DEVENISH.) Yes. (He goes out.)
(DEVENISH hastily shuts the door and comes back to DELIA.)
DEVENISH. I say, your mother is a ripper.
DELIA (enthusiastically). Isn't she! (Remembering.) At least, you mean my aunt?
DEVENISH (smiling at her). No, I mean your mother. To think that I once had the cheek to propose to her.
DELIA. Oh! Is it cheek to propose to people!
DEVENISH. To her.
DELIA. But not to me?
DEVENISH. Oh I say, Delia!
DELIA (with great dignity). Thank you, my name is Miss Robinson— I mean, Tremayne.
DEVENISH. Well, if you're not quite sure which it is, it's much safer to call you Delia.
DELIA (smiling). Well, perhaps it is.
DEVENISH. And if I did propose to you, you haven't answered
DELIA (sitting in the chair R. of the table). If you want an answer now, it's no; but if you like to wait till next April―–
DEVENISH (moving up to behind table—reproachfully). Oh, I say, and I cut my hair for you the same afternoon. (Turning quickly.) You haven't really told me how you like it yet.
DELIA. Oh, how bad of me! You look lovely.
DEVENISH (sitting at back of the table). And I promised to give up poetry for your sake.
DELIA. Perhaps I oughtn't to have asked you that.
DEVENISH. As far as I'm concerned, Delia, I'll do it gladly, but, of course, one has to think about posterity.
DELIA. But you needn't be a poet. You could give posterity plenty to think about if you were a statesman.