BELINDA (going to the sofa and putting her feet up). Yes, but I was really thinking of Mr. Baxter.
TREMAYNE. Not of me?
BELINDA. Well, I thought it was Mr. Baxter's turn. Poor man, he's had a disappointment lately.
TREMAYNE (eagerly). A disappointment?
BELINDA. Yes, he thought I was—younger than I was.
TREMAYNE (smiling to himself). How old are you, Belinda?
BELINDA (dropping her eyes). Twenty-two. (After a pause.) He thought I was eighteen. Such a disappointment!
TREMAYNE (smiling openly at her). Belinda, how old are you?
BELINDA. Just about the right age, Mr. Robinson.
TREMAYNE. The right age for what?