"
BETTY. Yes, ma'am.
BELINDA. He'll immediately throw down his bunch of flowers and dive
despairingly into the moat. You'll stop him, just as he is going
in, and say, "I beg your pardon, sir, was it Mr. _Devenish_?" And
he will say, "Yes!" and you will say, "Oh, I beg your pardon, sir;
_this_ way, please."
BETTY. Yes, ma'am. And suppose they both call together?
BELINDA. We won't suppose anything so exciting, Betty.
BETTY. No, ma'am. And suppose any other gentleman calls?
BELINDA (with a sigh). There aren't any other gentlemen.
BETTY. It might be a clergyman, come to ask for a subscription like.
BELINDA. If it's a clergyman, Betty, I shall--I shall want your
assistance out of the hammock first.
BETTY. Yes, ma'am.
BELINDA. That's all. To anybody else I'm not at home. (Trying to
secure book on table and nearly falling out of the hammock.) Oh,
just give me that little green book. (Pointing to books on the
table.) The one at the bottom there--that's the one. (BETTY gives
it to her.) Thank you. (Reading the title.) "The Lute of Love," by
Claude Devenish. (To herself as she turns the pages.) It doesn't
seem much for half-a-crown when you think of the _Daily Telegraph_.
... Lute ... Lute. ... I should have quite a pretty mouth if I kept
on saying that. (With a great deal of expression.
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