BELINDA (hastily). I'm afraid so, Mr. Baxter.
BAXTER. But this makes a great difference. I had no idea. Why, when I'm fifty you would be—
BELINDA (sighing). Yes, I suppose I should.
BAXTER. And when I'm sixty—
BELINDA (pleadingly to DEVENISH). Can't you stop him?
DEVENISH. Look here, Baxter, another word from you and you'll never get to sixty.
BAXTER. And then there's Miss—er—Delia. In the event of our marrying, Mrs. Tremayne, she, I take it, would be my step-daughter.
BELINDA. I don't think she would trouble us much, Mr. Baxter. I have an idea that she will be getting married before long. (She glances at DEVENISH, who returns her look gratefully.)
BAXTER. None the less, the fact would be disturbing. I have never yet considered myself seriously as a step-father. I don't think I am going too far if I say that to some extent I have been deceived in this matter.
BELINDA (reproachfully). And so have I. I thought you loved me.