[Enter DELIA from the door on the left.]
DELIA (shutting the door and going to DEVENISH). Oh, good morning, Mr. Devenish. I'm afraid my—er—aunt is out.
DEVENISH. I know, Miss Delia, I know.
DELIA. She'll be so sorry to have missed you. It is her day for you, isn't it?
DEVENISH. Her day for me?
DELIA. Yes; Mr. Baxter generally comes to-morrow, doesn't he?
DEVENISH. Miss Delia, if our friendship is to progress at all, it can only be on the distinct understanding that I take no interest whatever in Mr. Baxter's movements.
DELIA. Oh, I'm so sorry; I thought you knew. What lovely flowers! Are they for my aunt?
DEVENISH. To whom does one bring violets? To modest, shrinking, tender youth.
DELIA. I don't think we have anybody here like that.