Belinda (penitently). I won't!
Baxter (going slowly to fireplace and placing his hat down on armchair below fireplace). To resume, then, my narrative. This morning I have heard of a third Mr. Robinson. Whether there is actually any particular fortune attached to the number three I cannot say for certain. It is doubtful whether statistics would be found to support the popular belief. But one likes to flatter oneself that in one's own case it may be true; and so—
Belinda. And so the third Mr. Robinson–?
Baxter. Something for which I cannot altogether account inspires me with hope. He is, I have discovered, staying at Mariton. This afternoon I go to look for him.
Belinda (to herself). Mariton! How funny! I wonder if it's the same one.
Baxter. What one?
Belinda. Oh, just one of the ones. (Gratefully.) Mr. Baxter, you are doing all this for me.
Baxter. Pray do not mention it. I don't know if it's Devonshire (going to and sitting L. of Belinda), or the time of the year, or the sort of atmosphere you create, Mrs. Tremayne, but I feel an entirely different man. There is something in the air which–yes, I shall certainly go over to Mariton this afternoon.
Belinda (gravely). I have had the same feeling sometimes, Mr. Baxter. I am not always the staid respectable matron which I appear to you to be. Sometimes I–(She looks absently at the watch on her wrist.) Good gracious!
Baxter (alarmed). What is it!