[Enter BELINDA in a hat.]
BELINDA. Why, it's Mr. Devenish! How nice of you to come so early
in the morning! How is Mr. Baxter?
DEVENISH. I do not know, Mrs. Tremayne.
BELINDA (to DELIA). 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. 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. We must keep some surprises for
him.
DELIA (to DEVENISH as she picks up the flowers). Come along, Mr.
Devenish.
BELINDA (wickedly). Are those my flowers, Mr. Devenish?
DEVENISH (after a little hesitation, with a bow which might refer
to either of them).
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