(Left alone Tremayne stalks moodily about the room, crossing it and kicking things which come in his way. Violently, he kicks a hassock which is above the table R. to under the table C., then he takes up his hat and moves towards the swing doors and half opens them. He pauses and considers–then he comes down to the centre table, throws down his hat, moves round the left end of the table, finds the dog in the way and then sits on the table with his hands in his pockets, facing the audience. As he has been moving about the room, he has muttered the names of Baxter and Devenish.)
Devenish (entering from the door R., which he closes and goes to foot of the settee R.–surprised). Hullo!
(A pause.)
Tremayne (jealously, and rising). Are you Mr. Devenish?
Devenish. Yes.
Tremayne. Devenish the poet?
Devenish (coming up and shaking him warmly by the hand). My dear fellow, you know my work?
Tremayne (grimly). My dear Mr. Devenish, your name is most familiar to me.
Devenish. I congratulate you. I thought your great-grand-children would be the first to hear of me.
Tremayne (moving to L.). My name's Robinson, by the way.