Belinda. Mr. Devenish, I have never admired you so much as I do at this moment. (She extends her R. hand to Devenish, who gropes for it with his L. hand and eventually manages to seize it.)
Baxter (noticing he is holding her hand, moving to them and looking at them quizzically–indignantly to Devenish). I say, you know, that's not fair. It's all very well to take your defeat like a man, but you mustn't overdo it. (They release their hands.) Mrs. Tremayne, I claim the reward which I have earned.
Belinda (after a pause and rising). Mr. Baxter–Mr. Devenish, I have something to tell you.
(Devenish moves to her R.)
(Belinda kneels upon the Chesterfield facing them. Penitently.) I have not been quite frank with you. I think you both ought to know that–I–I made a mistake. Delia is not my niece; she is my daughter. (She buries her face in her hands.)
Devenish. Your daughter! I say, how ripping!
(Belinda gives him an understanding look.)
Baxter. Your daughter!
Belinda. Yes.
Baxter. But–but you aren't old enough to have a daughter of that age.