(Baxter, crossing to R., meets Devenish who has moved up R. Baxter is annoyed and with an impatient gesture comes down between the tree and the table to chair L. and sits. Devenish throws his felt hat on to the table and walks to the back of the hammock. He sees the review in the hammock and picks it up.)
Devenish. Good heavens, Baxter, she's been reading your article!
Baxter. I dare say she's not the only one.
Devenish. That's only guesswork (going to back of table); you don't know of anyone else.
Baxter (with contempt). How many people, may I ask, have bought your poems?
Devenish (loftily). I don't write for the mob.
Baxter. I think I may say that of my own work.
Devenish. Baxter, I don't want to disappoint you, but I have reluctantly come to the conclusion that you are one of the mob. (Throws magazine down on table, annoyed.) Dash it! what are you doing in the country at all in a bowler-hat?
Baxter. If I wanted to be personal, I could say, "Why don't you get your hair cut?" Only that form of schoolboy humour doesn't appeal to me.
Devenish. This is not a personal matter; I am protesting on behalf of nature. (Leaning against tree.) What do the birds and the flowers and the beautiful trees think of your hat?