) Ha, my book!
(_Gloating over it_.) Baxter, she reads my book.
BAXTER. I suppose you gave her a copy.
DEVENISH (exultingly). Yes, I gave her a copy. My next book will be hers
and hers alone.
BAXTER. Then let me say that, in my opinion, you took a very great
liberty.
DEVENISH. Liberty! And this from a man who is continually forcing his
unwelcome statistics upon her.
BAXTER. At any rate, I flatter myself that there is no suggestion of
impropriety in anything that _I_ write.
DEVENISH. I'm not so sure about that, Baxter.
BAXTER. What do you mean, sir?
DEVENISH. Did you read The Times this month on the new reviews!
BAXTER. Well!
DEVENISH. Oh, nothing. It just said, "Mr. Baxter's statistics are
extremely suggestive."
(BAXTER _makes a gesture of annoyance_.)
I haven't read them, so of course I don't know what you've been up to.
BAXTER (_rising, turning away in disgust and crossing up_ L). Pah!
DEVENISH. Poor old Baxter! (_Puts book of poems down on table and
crosses below chair and gathers a daffodil from a large vase down_ R.
_and saying_ "Poor old Baxter!" _ad lib_.
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