BELINDA (innocently). But anybody can propose. Now if you'd asked
how many I'd accepted--Let me see, where was I up to? I shan't
count yours, because I haven't really had it yet. Six, seven--Yes,
Betty, what is it?
[BETTY has just come in from the door on the left.]
BETTY. If you please, ma'am, cook would like to speak to you for a
minute.
BELINDA (getting up). Yes, I'll come. (To TREMAYNE.) You'll forgive
me, won't you? You'll find some cigarettes there. (She starts to
go, but comes back and adds confidentially) It's probably about the
lamb cutlets; I expect your little one refuses to be cooked.
[She goes out after BETTY.]
(Left alone, TREMAYNE stalks moodily about the room, occasionally
kicking things which come in his way. He takes up his hat suddenly
and goes towards the door; stops irresolutely and comes back. He is
standing in the middle of the room with his hands in his pockets
when DEVENISH comes in from the door on the left.)
DEVENISH (surprised). Hullo!
TREMAYNE Hullo! ... Are you Mr. Devenish?
DEVENISH. Yes.
TREMAYNE. Devenish the poet?
DEVENISH (coming up and shaking him warmly by the hand). My dear
fellow, you know my work?
TREMAYNE (grimly). My dear Mr. Devenish, your name is most
familiar to me.
DEVENISH. I congratulate you. I thought your great-grandchildren
would be the first to hear of me.
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