How nice of you to come so early in the morning! How is Mr. Baxter!
DEVENISH (annoyed and crossing behind BELINDA to her L.). I do not know, Mrs. Tremayne.
BELINDA (coming down to DELIA and sitting in the place vacated by DEVENISH). I got most of the things, Delia. (To DEVENISH.) "The things," Mr. Devenish, is my rather stuffy way of referring to all the delightful poems that you are going to eat to–night.
DEVENISH. I am looking forward to it immensely, Mrs. Tremayne.
BELINDA. I do hope I've got all your and Mr. Baxter's favourite dishes.
DEVENISH (annoyed and, moving to L. foot of table C.). I'm afraid Mr. Baxter and I are not likely to appreciate the same things.
BELINDA (coyly). Oh, Mr. Devenish! And you were so unanimous a few days ago.
DELIA. I think Mr. Devenish was referring entirely to things to eat.
BELINDA. I felt quite sad when I was buying the lamb cutlets. To think that, only a few days before, they had been frisking about with their mammas, and having poems written about them by Mr. Devenish. There! I'm giving away the whole dinner. Delia, take him away before I tell him any more.
(DELIA rises, goes to table and picks up water carafe which she replaces on refectory table up L.)
We must keep some surprises for him.
DELIA (to DEVENISH as she crosses back to table R. and picks up the flowers). Come along, Mr. Devenish.
BELINDA (wickedly). Are those my flowers, Mr. Devenish?
DEVENISH (advancing to BELINDA and laughing awkwardly, after a little hesitation, with a bow which might refer to either of them). They are for the most beautiful lady in the land.
BELINDA. Oh, how nice of you!
(DEVENISH crosses to door R. and opens it for DELIA, who follows him and exits. DEVENISH, standing above door, catches BELINDA'S eye and with an awkward laugh follows DELIA.)
BELINDA. I suppose he means Delia—bless them! (She kisses her hand towards the door R. She then rises and crosses below the table C., placing her basket on the L. end of it, to the fireplace. She rings the bell. Then she moves up on the R. side of the Chesterfield to the refectory table and takes off her hat. She takes up a mirror from the table and gives a few pats to her hair, and as she is doing so BETTY enters from door R. and crosses the room towards C.)
BELINDA (pointing to basket on the C. table). Oh, Betty—
(BETTY moves to back of C. table and takes up the basket. Crosses above settee and exits through door R. BELINDA is moving towards the swing doors when she catches sight of BAXTER entering from the garden up R. She moves quickly to the L. of C. table, takes up a book and going to Chesterfield L., lies down with her head to R. BAXTER looks in through the window up R., then crosses round and enters through the portico and the swing doors. BELINDA pretends to be very busy reading.)
BAXTER (rather nervously, in front of wring doors). Er—may I come in, Mrs. Tremayne?
BELINDA (dropping her book and turning round with a violent start). Oh, Mr. Baxter, how you surprised me! (She puts her hand to her heart and sits up and faces him.)
BAXTER. I must apologize for intruding upon you at this hour, Mrs. Tremayne.
BELINDA (holding up her hand). Stop!
BAXTER (startled). What?
BELINDA. I cannot let you come in like that.
BAXTER (looking down at himself). Like what?
BELINDA (dropping her eyes). You called me Belinda once.
BAXTER (coming down to her). May I explain my position, Mrs. Tremayne?
BELINDA. Before you begin—have you been seeing my niece lately?
BAXTER (surprised). No.
BELINDA. Oh! (Sweetly.) Please go on.
BAXTER. Why, is she lost too?
BELINDA. Oh no; I just― Do sit down.
(BAXTER moves to the chair L. of C. table and sits. BELINDA rises when he has sat down.)
Let me put your hat down somewhere for you.
BAXTER (keeping it firmly in his hand). It will be all right here, thank you.
BELINDA (returning to the Chesterfield and sitting). I'm dying to hear what you are going to say.
BAXTER. First as regards the use of your Christian name. I felt that, as a man of honour, I could not permit myself to use it until I had established my right over that of Mr. Devenish.
BELINDA. All my friends call me Belinda.
BAXTER. As between myself and Mr. Devenish the case is somewhat different. Until one of us is successful over the other in the quest upon which you have sent us, I feel that as far as possible we should hold aloof from you.
BELINDA (pleadingly). Just say "Belinda" once more, in case you're a long time.
BAXTER (very formally). Belinda.
BELINDA. How nicely you say it—Harold.
BAXTER (getting out of his seat). Mrs. Tremayne, I must not listen to this.
BELINDA (meekly). I won't offend again, Mr. Baxter. Please go on. (She motions him to sit—he does so.) Tell me about the quest; are you winning?
BAXTER. I am progressing, Mrs. Tremayne. Indeed, I came here this morning to acquaint you with the results of my investigations. (Clears his throat.) Yesterday I located a man called Robinson working upon a farm close by. I ventured to ask him if he had any marks upon him by which he could be recognized. He adopted a threatening attitude, and replied that if I wanted any he could give me some. With the aid of half–a–crown I managed to placate him. Putting my inquiry in another form, I asked if he had any moles. A regrettable misunderstanding, which led to a fruitless journey to another part of the village, was eventually cleared up, and on my return I satisfied myself that this man was in no way related to your niece.
BELINDA (admiringly). How splendid of you!
BAXTER. Yes.
BELINDA. Well, now, we know he's not. (She holds up one finger.)
BAXTER. Yes. In the afternoon I located another Mr. Robinson following the profession of a carrier. My first inquiries led to a similar result, with the exception that in this case Mr. Robinson carried his threatening attitude so far as to take off his coat and roll up his sleeves. Perceiving at once that he was not the man, I withdrew.
BELINDA. How brave you are!
BAXTER. Yes.
BELINDA. That makes two.
BAXTER. Yea.
BELINDA (holding up another finger). It still leaves a good many. (Pleadingly.) Just call me Belinda again.
BAXTER (rising and backing to R. a little, nervously). You mustn't tempt me, Mrs. Tremayne.
BELINDA (penitently). I won't!
BAXTER (going slowly to fireplace and placing his hat down on armchair below fireplace). To resume, then, my narrative. This morning I have heard of a third Mr. Robinson. Whether there is actually any particular fortune attached to the number three I cannot say for certain. It is doubtful whether statistics would be found to support the popular belief. But one likes to flatter oneself that in one's own case it may be true; and so—