DEVENISH. Good heavens! It was he!
BELINDA (sympathetically). Poor Mr. Devenish!
DEVENISH (pointing tragically to the table). And to think that I
actually sat on that table--no, that seat--no, not that one,
it was the sofa--that I sat on the sofa with him this morning, and
never guessed! Why, ten minutes ago I was asking him for the nuts!
BAXTER. Aha, Devenish, you're not so clever as you thought you
were.
DEVENISH. Why, I must have given you the clue myself! He told me he
had a scar on his arm, and I never thought any more of it. And then
I went away innocently and left you two talking about it.
BELINDA (alarmed). A scar on his arm?
DEVENISH. Where a lion mauled him.
(BELINDA gives a little shudder.)
BAXTER. It's quite healed up now, Mrs. Tremayne.
BELINDA (looking at him admiringly). A lion! What you two have
adventured for my sake!
BAXTER. I suppose you will admit, Devenish, that I may fairly claim
to have won?
(Looking the picture of despair, DEVENISH droops his head, raises
his arms and lets them fall hopelessly to his sides.)
BELINDA. Mr. Devenish, I have never admired you so much as I do at
this moment.
BAXTER (indignantly to DEVENISH). I say, you know, that's not fair.
It's all very well to take your defeat like a man, but you mustn't
overdo it.
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