(BAXTER pats DEVENISH sympathetically and moves to the back of the Chesterfield and is about to speak to BELINDA. She, however, silences him and he drops down to the front of the fireplace.)
BELINDA (sympathetically). Poor Mr. Devenish!
DEVENISH (pointing tragically to the table). And to think that I actually sat on that table—no, that seat (he points to the settee R., then he moves up stage between it and the table)— that I sat there with him this morning, and never guessed! Why, ten minutes ago I was asking him for the nuts!
BAXTER. Aha, Devenish, you're not so clever as you thought you were.
DEVENISH (coming quickly to the back of the chair L. of the table). Why, I must have given you the clue myself! He told me he had a scar on his arm, and I never thought any more of it. And then I went away innocently and left you two talking about it.
BELINDA (alarmed). A scar on his arm?
DEVENISH. Where a lion mauled him.
(BELINDA gives a little cry and shudder.)
BAXTER. It's quite healed up now, Mrs. Tremayne.
BELINDA (looking at him admiringly). A lion! What you two have adventured for my sake!
BAXTER. I suppose you will admit, Devenish, that I may fairly claim to have won?
(Looking the picture of despair, DEVENISH drops down L. of the chair, droops his head, raises his arms and lets them fall hopelessly to his sides.)
BELINDA. Mr. Devenish, I have never admired you so much as I do at this moment. (She extends her R. hand to DEVENISH, who gropes for it with his L. hand and eventually manages to seize it.)
BAXTER (noticing he is holding her hand, moving to them and looking at them quizzically—indignantly to DEVENISH). I say, you know, that's not fair. It's all very well to take your defeat like a man, but you mustn't overdo it. (They release their hands.) Mrs. Tremayne, I claim the reward which I have earned.
BELINDA (after a pause and rising). Mr. Baxter—Mr. Devenish, I have something to tell you.
(DEVENISH moves to her R.)
(BELINDA kneels upon the Chesterfield facing them. Penitently.) I have not been quite frank with you. I think you both ought to know that— I—I made a mistake. Delia is not my niece; she is my daughter. (She buries her face in her hands.)
DEVENISH. Your daughter! I say, how ripping!
(BELINDA gives him an understanding look.)
BAXTER. Your daughter!
BELINDA. Yes.
BAXTER. But—but you aren't old enough to have a daughter of that age.
BELINDA (apologetically). Well, there she is.
BAXTER. But—but she's grown up.
BELINDA. Quite.
BAXTER. Then in that case you must be―(He hesitates, evidently working it out.)
BELINDA (hastily). I'm afraid so, Mr. Baxter.
BAXTER. But this makes a great difference. I had no idea. Why, when I'm fifty you would be―
BELINDA (sighing). Yes, I suppose I should.
BAXTER. And when I'm sixty―
BELINDA (pleadingly to DEVENISH). Can't you stop him?
DEVENISH (with a threatening gesture). Look here, Baxter, another word from you and you'll never get to sixty.
BAXTER. And then there's Miss—er—Delia. In the event of our marrying, Mrs. Tremayne, she, I take it, would be my step–daughter.
BELINDA. I don't think she would trouble us much, Mr. Baxter. (With a sly look at DEVENISH.) I have an idea that she will be getting married before long. (She again glances at DEVENISH, who returns her look gratefully.)
BAXTER (moving up L. into the inner room). None the less, the fact would be disturbing.
(DEVENISH with a wink at BELINDA crosses in front of her and warms his hands at the fire. BELINDA watches BAXTER over the back of the Chesterfield.)
I have never yet considered myself seriously as a step–father. (Moving round the refectory table.) I don't think I am going too far if I say that to some extent I have been deceived in this matter. (He comes down to behind the C. table.)
BELINDA (reproachfully). And so have I. I thought you loved me.
DEVENISH (sympathetically). Yes, yes.
BELINDA (turning to him suddenly). And Mr. Devenish too.
BAXTER (moving to BELINDA). Er―
DEVENISH. Er―
(They stand before her guiltily and have nothing to say.)
BELINDA (with a shrug). Well, I shall have to marry somebody else, that's all.
BAXTER (moving to below table). Who? Who?
BELINDA. I suppose Mr. Robinson. After all, if I am Delia's mother, and Mr. Baxter says that Mr. Robinson's her father, it's about time we were married.
DEVENISH (eagerly). Mrs. Tremayne, what fools we are! He is your husband all the time!
BELINDA. Yes.
BAXTER (moving up to the R. of BELINDA). You've had a husband all the time?
BELINDA (apologetically). I lost him; it wasn't my fault.
BAXTER. Really, this is very confusing. I don't know where I am. I gather—I am to gather, it seems, that you are no longer eligible as a possible wife?
BELINDA. I am afraid not, Mr. Baxter.
BAXTER. But this is very confusing—(moving towards the swing doors)—this is very disturbing to a man of my age. For weeks past I have been regarding myself as a—a possible benedict. I have—ah—taken steps. (Back to the L. end of the C. table.) Only this morning, in writing to my housekeeper, I warned her that she might hear at any moment a most startling announcement.
DEVENISH (cheerfully). Oh, that's all right. That might only mean that you were getting a new bowler–hat.
BAXTER (dropping down L.C. a few steps—suddenly). Ah, and what about you, sir? How is it that you take this so lightly? (Triumphantly.) I have it. It all becomes clear to me. You have transferred your affections to her daughter!
DEVENISH. Oh, I say, Baxter, this is very crude.
BELINDA. And why should he not, Mr. Baxter? (Softly.) He has made me very happy.
BAXTER (staggered). He has made you happy, Mrs. Tremayne!
BELINDA. Very happy.
BAXTER (thoughtfully). Oh! Oh ho! Oh ho! (He takes a turn up the room into the inner room, muttering to himself. BELINDA kneels and watches him over the back of the Chesterfield. Then he comes down again to her R. side.) Mrs. Tremayne, I have taken a great resolve. (Solemnly.) I also will make you happy. (Thumping his heart.) I also will woo Miss Delia.
BELINDA. Oh!
DEVENISH. Look here, Baxter—
BAXTER (suddenly crossing and seizing DEVENISH'S arm and pulling him towards the siding doors up R. between the Chesterfield and the table). Come, we will seek Miss Delia together.