TREMAYNE. Shall I tell you how old you are?
BELINDA. Do you mean in figures or--poetically?
TREMAYNE. I meant--
BELINDA. Mr. Devenish said I was as old as the--now, I must get
this the right way round--as old as the--
TREMAYNE. I don't want to talk about Mr. Devenish.
BELINDA (with a sigh). Nobody ever does--except Mr. Devenish. As
old as the stars, and as young as the dawn. (Settling herself
cosily.) I think that's rather a nice age to be, don't you?
TREMAYNE. A very nice age to be.
BELINDA. It's a pity he's thrown me over for Delia; I shall miss
that sort of thing rather. You don't say those sort of things about
your aunt-in-law--not so often.
TREMAYNE (eagerly). He really is in love with Miss Robinson!
BELINDA. Oh yes. I expect he is out in the moonlight with her now,
comparing her to Diana.
TREMAYNE. Well, that accounts for _him. _Now what about Baxter?
BELINDA. I thought I told you. Deeply disappointed to find that I
was four years older than he expected, Mr. Baxter hurried from the
drawing-room and buried himself in a column of the "Encyclopedia
Britannica."
TREMAYNE. Well, that settles Baxter. Are there any more men in the
neighbourhood?
BELINDA (shaking her head). Isn't it awful? I've only had those
two for the last three weeks.
(TREMAYNE sits on the back of the sofa and looks down at her.
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