Belinda. Yes; we have some one called Robinson (nodding towards the house) staying in the house. I wonder if she is any relation?
Tremayne (hastily). Oh no, no. No, she couldn't be. I have no relations called Robinson–not to speak of.
Belinda. You must tell me all about your relations when you come and call, Mr. Robinson.
Tremayne. I think we can find something better worth talking about than that.
Belinda. Do you think so? (He says "Yes" with his eyes, bows, and moves up C. The piano is now forte. Belinda accompanies him up a little, then stops. He turns in entrance up C., and they exchange glances. Tremayne exits to R., behind yew hedge. Belinda stays looking after him, then moves down to back of table and picking up the book of poems, gives that happy sigh of hers, only even more so.) O-oh!
(Enter Betty from porch.)
Betty. If you please, ma'am, Miss Delia says, are you coming in to tea?
Belinda (looking straight in front of her, and taking no notice of Betty, in a happy, dreamy voice). Betty, ... about callers .... If Mr. Robinson calls–he's the handsome gentleman who hasn't been here before (puts book down)–you will say, "Not at home." And he will say, "Oh!" And you will say, "I beg your pardon, sir, was it Mr. Robinson?" And he will say, "Yes!" And you will say, "Oh, I beg your pardon, sir–" (Almost as if she were Betty, she begins to move towards the house.) "This way–" (she would be smiling an invitation over her shoulder to Mr. Robinson, if he were there, and she were Betty)–"please!" (And the abandoned woman goes in to tea.)
Curtain