BAXTER. Debts.
BELINDA (still with her eyes shut). You mustn't interrupt, Mr. Baxter.
DEVENISH. Belinda, marry me and I will open your eyes to the beauty of the world. Come to me!
BELINDA (happily). O-oh! You've got such different ways of putting things. How can I choose between you?
DEVENISH. Then you will marry one of us?
BELINDA. You know I really _oughtn't_ to.
BAXTER. I don't see why not.
BELINDA. Well, there's just a little difficulty in the way.
DEVENISH. What is it? I will remove it. For you I could remove anything--yes, even Baxter. (He looks at BAXTER, who is sitting more solidly than ever in his chair.)
BELINDA. And anyhow I should have to choose between you.
DEVENISH (in a whisper). Choose me.
BAXTER (stiffly). Mrs. Tremayne does not require any prompting. A fair field and let the best man win.
DEVENISH (going across to and slapping the astonished BAXTER on the back). Aye, let the best man win! Well spoken, Baxter. (To BELINDA) Send us out into the world upon some knightly quest, lady, and let the victor be rewarded.
BAXTER. I--er--ought to say that I should be unable to go very far. I have an engagement to speak at Newcastle on the 2lst.
DEVENISH. Baxter, I will take no unfair advantage of you. Let the beard of the Lord Mayor of Newcastle be the talisman that my lady demands; I am satisfied.
BAXTER. This sort of thing is entirely contrary to my usual mode of life, but I will not be outfaced by a mere boy. (Slapping his bowler-hat on the table) I am prepared.
DEVENISH. Speak, lady.
BELINDA (speaking in a deep, mysterious voice). Gentlemen, ye put wild thoughts into my head. In sooth, I am minded to send ye forth upon a quest that is passing strange. Know ye that there is a maid journeyed hither, hight Robinson--whose--(in her natural voice) what's the old for aunt?
BAXTER (hopefully). Mother's sister.
BELINDA. You know, I think I shall have to explain this in ordinary language. You won't mind very much, will you, Mr. Devenish?
DEVENISH. It is the spirit of this which matters, not the language which clothes it.
BELINDA. Oh, I'm so glad you think so. Well, now about Miss Robinson. She's my niece and she's just come to stay with me, and-- poor girl--she's lost her father. Absolutely lost him. He disappeared ever such a long time ago, and poor Miss Robinson-- Delia--naturally wants to find him. Poor girl! she can't think where he is.
DEVENISH (nobly). I will find him.
BELINDA. Oh, thank you, Mr. Devenish; Miss Robinson would be so much obliged.
BAXTER. Yes--er--but what have we to go upon? Beyond the fact that his name is Robinson--
BELINDA. I shouldn't go on that too much. You see, he may easily have changed it by now. He was never very much of a Robinson. Nothing to do with Peter or any of those.
DEVENISH. I will find him.
BAXTER. Well, can you tell us what he's like?
BELINDA. Well, it's such a long time since I saw him. (Looking down modestly.) Of course, I was quite a girl then. The only thing I know for certain is that he has a mole on his left arm about here. (She indicates a spot just below the elbow.)
DEVENISH (folding his arms and looking nobly upwards). I will find him.
BAXTER. I am bound to inform you, Mrs. Tremayne, that even a trained detective could not give you very much hope in such a case. However, I will keep a look-out for him, and, of course, if--
DEVENISH. Fear not, lady, I will find him.
BAXTER (annoyed). Yes, you keep on saying that, but what have you got to go on?
DEVENISH (grandly). Faith! The faith which moves mountains.
BELINDA. Yes, and this is only just one small mole-hill, Mr. Baxter.
BAXTER. Yes, but still--
BELINDA. S'sh! here is Miss Robinson. If Mr. Devenish will hold the hammock while I alight--we don't want an accident--I can introduce you. (He helps her to get out.) Thank you. Delia darling, this is Mr. Baxter,--and Mr. Devenish. My niece, Miss Robinson--
DELIA. How do you do?
BELINDA. Miss Robinson has just come over from France. _Mon Dieu, quel pays!_
BAXTER. I hope you had a good crossing, Miss Robinson.
DELIA. Oh, I never mind about the crossing. Aunt Belinda--(She stops and smiles.)
BELINDA. Yes, dear?
DELIA. I believe tea is almost ready. 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. She goes slowly towards the house, turns her head just as she comes to the door, and comes slowly back again. She stops at the table looking down the garden.)
BELINDA (to herself). Have you lost yourself, or something? No; the latch is this side. ... Yes, that's right.
[TREMAYNE comes in. He has been knocking about the world for eighteen years, and is very much a man, though he has kept his manners. His hair is greying a little at the sides, and he looks the forty-odd that he is. Without his moustache and beard he is very different from the boy BELINDA married.]
TREMAYNE