BELINDA. For this sort of conversation.
TREMAYNE. Shall I tell you how old you are?
BELINDA. Do you mean in figures or—poetically?
TREMAYNE. I meant—
BELINDA. Mr. Devenish said I was as old as the—now, I must get this the right way round—as old as the—
TREMAYNE. I don't want to talk about Mr. Devenish.
BELINDA (with a sigh). Nobody ever does—except Mr. Devenish. As old as the stars, and as young as the dawn. (Settling herself cosily.) I think that's rather a nice age to be, don't you?
TREMAYNE. A very nice age to be.
BELINDA. It's a pity he's thrown me over for Delia; I shall miss that sort of thing rather. You don't say those sort of things about your aunt-in-law—not so often.
TREMAYNE (eagerly). He really is in love with Miss Robinson!