Belinda. How nice of you both to come!
Baxter. Mr. Devenish and I are inseparable–apparently.
Belinda. You haven't told me what you were doing, Mr. Devenish. Was it (plucking an imaginary flower) "This year, next year?" or "Silk, satin–"
Devenish. My lady, it was even more romantic than that. I have the honour to announce to your ladyship that Mr. Baxter is to be a sailor. (Dances round imitating the hornpipe.)
Belinda (to Baxter). Doesn't he talk nonsense?
Baxter. He'll grow out of it. I did.
Belinda (moving down R. and then to centre towards hammock). Oh, I hope not. I love talking nonsense, and I'm ever so old. (As they both start forward to protest.) Now which one of you will say it first?
Devenish. You are as old as the stars and as young as the dawn.
Baxter. You are ten years younger than I am.
Belinda. What sweet things to say! I don't know which I like best. Devenish. Where will my lady sit!