TREMAYNE. Who is Mr. Baxter?
BELINDA. Oh, he's a sort of statistician. Isn't that a horrid word to say? So stishany.
TREMAYNE. What does he make statistics about?
BELINDA. Oh, umbrellas and things. Don't let's talk about him.
TREMAYNE. All right, then; who is Mr. Devenish?
BELINDA. Oh, he's a poet. (She throws up her eyes and sighs deeply.) Ah me!
TREMAYNE. What does he write poetry about? (BELINDA looks at him, and down again, and then at him again, and then down, and gives a little sigh—all of which means, "Can't you guess?") What does he write poetry about?
BELINDA (obediently). He wrote "The Lute of Love and other Poems, by Claude Devenish." The Lute of Love—(To herself.) I haven't been saying that lately. (With great expression.) The Lute of Love—the Lute. (She pats her mouth back.)
TREMAYNE. And what is Mr. Devenish—
BELINDA (putting her hand on his sleeve). You'll let me know when it's my turn, won't you?