BAXTER (making his speech). "Mr. Devenish, young fellow, when you matched yourself against a man of my repute, when you matched yourself against a man"—(BELINDA has slipped out, to enjoy her happiness alone)—"who has read papers at soirées of the Royal Statistical Society; when—er—"
[He looks round the room and discovers to his amazement that he is alone. He claps on his bowler-hat, gives another amazed look round, says with a shrug, "Unusual!" and goes out.]
ACT III
[It is after dinner in BELINDA'S hall. BELINDA is lying on the sofa with a coffee-cup in her hand. DELIA, in the chair on the right, has picked up "The Lute of Love" from a table and is reading it impatiently.]
DELIA. What rubbish he writes!
BELINDA (coming back from her thoughts). Who, dear?
DELIA. Claude—Mr. Devenish. Of course, he's very young.
BELINDA. So was Keats, darling.
DELIA. I don't think Claude has had Keats' advantages. Keats started life as an apothecary.
BELINDA. So much nicer than a chemist.