BAXTER. Oh--ah--yes. (He puts his hat on and turns his back to the
hammock.)
DEVENISH (leaning over her). If only--
BELINDA. You'd better not say anything, Mr. Devenish. Keep it for
your next volume. (He turns away.) One, two, three--that was better
than last time. (They turn round to see her safely in the hammock.
DEVENISH leans against the tree at her feet, and BAXTER draws the
chair from the right side of the table and turns it round towards
her. He presses his hat more firmly on and sits down.) I wonder if
either of you can guess what I've been reading this afternoon!
DEVENISH (looking at her lovingly). I know.
BELINDA (giving him a fleeting look). How did you know? (to
BAXTER). Yes, Mr. Baxter, it was your article I was reading. If
you'd come five minutes earlier you'd have found me wrestling--I
mean revelling in it.
BAXTER. I am very greatly honoured, Mrs. Tremayne. Ah--it seemed to
me a very interesting curve showing the rise and fall of--
BELINDA. I hadn't got up to the curves. They _are_ interesting,
aren't they? They are really more in Mr. Devenish's line. (To
DEVENISH.) Mr. Devenish, it was a great disappointment to me that
all the poems in your book seemed to be written to somebody else.
DEVENISH. It was before I met you, lady. They were addressed to the
goddess of my imagination.
Pages:
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167