You are too impetuous. I think that as Delia's mother—
Baxter (coming down R. to the foot of the C. table). Your pardon, Mrs. Tremayne. In the intoxication of the moment I am forgetting. (Formally.) I have the honour to ask your permission to pay my addresses–(Moves to chair L. of table.)
Belinda. No, no, I didn't mean that. But, as Delia's mother, I ought to warn you that she is hardly fitted to take the place of your housekeeper. She is not very domesticated.
Baxter (indignantly). Not domesticated? (Sits L. of table.) Why, did I not hear her tell her father at dinner that she had arranged all the flowers?
Belinda. There are other things than flowers.
Devenish (on Baxter's R., behind the table). Bed-socks, for instance, Baxter.
(Baxter is annoyed.)
It's a very tricky thing airing bed-socks. I am sure your house-keeper—
Baxter (silencing Devenish). Mrs. Tremayne, she will learn. The daughter of such a mother... I need say no more.
Belinda. Oh, thank you. But there is something else, Mr. Baxter. You are not being quite fair to yourself. In starting out upon this simultaneous wooing, you forget that Mr. Devenish has already had his turn–(Devenish tries to stop her. Baxter turns round and nearly catches him.)–this morning alone. You should have yours ... alone ... too.