BELINDA (coyly). Oh, Mr. Devenish! And you were so unanimous a few days ago.
DELIA. I think Mr. Devenish was referring entirely to things to eat.
BELINDA. I felt quite sad when I was buying the lamb cutlets. To think that, only a few days before, they had been frisking about with their mammas, and having poems written about them by Mr. Devenish. There! I'm giving away the whole dinner. Delia, take him away before I tell him any more. We must keep some surprises for him.
DELIA (to DEVENISH as she picks up the flowers). Come along, Mr. Devenish.
BELINDA (wickedly). Are those my flowers, Mr. Devenish?
DEVENISH (after a little hesitation, with a bow which might refer to either of them). They are for the most beautiful lady in the land.
BELINDA. Oh, how nice of you!
[DEVENISH follows DELIA out through the door on the left.]
BELINDA (unpinning her hat before a mirror). I suppose he means Delia—bless them! (She gives a few pats to her hair and then walks about the room singing softly to herself. She does to the front-door and looks happily out into the garden. Suddenly she sees MR. BAXTER approaching. She hurries back into a chair and pretends to be very busy reading.)
BAXTER (rather nervously). Er—may I come in, Mrs. Tremayne?