(TREMAYNE rises and moves to the swing doors, 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 R.)
BELINDA (crossing below settee). Such a to–do in the kitchen! The cook's given notice—at least she will directly—(up to TREMAYNE)—and your lamb cutlet slipped back to the shop when nobody was looking
(TREMAYNE looks off at swing doors)
and I've got to go into the village again, (going to the refectory table and getting her hat) and ok 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. (Coming back to table C. and putting down her hat on R. side.)
TREMAYNE. Belinda— (Moving up to her.)
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, takes up his hat and hurries through the swing doors and off through the garden to L.)
(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 Baxter, you may come in now; he has withdrawn. (Moves down a little and then back to L. of the door again.) Mr. Baxter, I have unhanded him. (She opens the door and going in, finds the room empty.) Oh!
(BAXTER comes quickly through the swing doors.)
BAXTER (meeting BELINDA coming out of the cupboard). Ah, (they both start) there you are! (Crossing down to R. end of C. table, he puts down his hat.)
BELINDA (turning with a start). Oh, how you frightened me, Mr. Baxter! I couldn't think what had happened to you. (She closes the door.) 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 (on his L., hardly understanding). Miss Robinson's father?
BAXTER. Yes. Mr. Robinson.
BELINDA. Oh, you mean—(Points to direction when TREMAYNE has gone.) 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 (coming down to him 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 (moving to R. of table and sitting). And I didn't know!
BAXTER (moving to back of table). 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 (nodding to herself mischievously). So I was right, after all! (Slowly and triumphantly.) He does look better without a beard!
BAXTER (with his hand on the back of the chair on the L. side of the table). "Mr. Devenish, young fellow, when you matched yourself against a man of my repute, when you matched yourself against a man— matched yourself against a man of my repute (crossing towards fireplace)
(BELINDA rises stealthily, takes up her hat and exits through the swing doors and through the garden up R.)
when you matched yourself against a man who has read papers (moving towards centre table) at Soirees of the Royal Statistical Society―" (Looking round the room, he discovers that he is alone. He picks up his hat from the table and jams it down on his head.) Unusual!
(He moves up towards the swing doors.)
CURTAIN.
Act III
It is after dinner in BELINDA'S hall. The log fire, chandelier and wall brackets are all alight. BELINDA is lying on the Chesterfield with a coffee–cup in her hand. DELIA, in the chair down L. below the fireplace, has picked up "The Lute of Love" from a table and is reading it impatiently. She also has a coffee–cup in her hand.
DELIA (throwing the book away). What rubbish he writes!
BELINDA (coming back from her thoughts). Who, dear?
DELIA. Claude
(BELINDA gives her a quick look of surprise.)
—Mr. Devenish. (She rises and stands by the fireplace with her cup in her hand.) 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! (She moves to BELINDA, takes her cup, then crosses to the table and places both the cups on the table— 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 (going to the back of the Chesterfield and to the L. of BELINDA). Mummy, look me in the eye and tell me you are not being bad.
BELINDA (having playfully turned her head away and hidden her face with her handkerchief, says innocently). Bad, darling?
DELIA (moving down to the front of the fireplace). 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.