I want mine, and I'm sure Mr.
Baxter's hungry. Mr. Devenish scorns food, I expect.
DEVENISH (hurt). Why do you say that?
DELIA. Aren't you a poet?
BELINDA. Yes, darling, but that doesn't prevent him eating. He'll
be absolutely lyrical over Betty's sandwiches.
DEVENISH. You won't deny me that inspiration, I hope, Miss
Robinson.
BELINDA. Well, let's go and see what they're like. (DELIA and
DEVENISH begin to move towards the house.) Mr. Baxter, just a
moment.
BAXTER. Yes?
BELINDA (secretly). Not a word to her about Mr. Robinson. It must
be a surprise for her.
BAXTER. Quite so, I understand.
BELINDA. That's right. (Raising her voice.) Oh, Mr. Devenish.
DEVENISH. Yes, Mrs. Tremayne? (He comes back.)
BELINDA (secretly). Not a word to her about Mr. Robinson. It must
be a surprise for her.
DEVENISH. Of course! I shouldn't dream--(Indignantly.) Robinson!
_What_ an unsuitable name!
[BAXTER _and_ DELIA _are just going into the house.]
BELINDA (dismissing DEVENISH). All right, I'll catch you up.
[DEVENISH goes after the other two.]
(Left alone, BELINDA _laughs happily to herself, and then
begins to look rather aimlessly about her. She picks up her
sunshade and opens it. She comes to the hammock, picks out her
handkerchief, says, "Ah, there you are!" and puts it away.
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