TREMAYNE. Your turn?
BELINDA. Yes, to ask questions. I love this game—it's like clumps. (She crosses her hands on her lap and waits for the next question.)
TREMAYNE. I beg your pardon. I—er—of course have no right to cross-examine you like this.
BELINDA. Oh, do go on, I love it. (With childish excitement.) I've got my question ready.
TREMAYNE (smiling). I think perhaps it is your turn.
BELINDA (eagerly). Is it really? (He nods.) Well then—who is Mr. Robinson?
TREMAYNE (alarmed). What?
BELINDA. I think it's a fair question. I met you three days ago and you told me you were staying at Mariton. Mariton. You can say it all right now, can't you?
TREMAYNE. I think so.
BELINDA (coaxingly). Just say it.