(_Enter_ BELINDA _through swing doors B.C_.)
BELINDA. Why, it's Mr. Devenish!
(DEVENISH _rises and kisses her hand somewhat sheepishly_.)
How nice of you to come so early in the morning! How is Mr. Baxter!
DEVENISH (_annoyed and crossing behind_ BELINDA _to her_ L.).
I do not know, Mrs. Tremayne.
BELINDA (_coming down to_ DELIA _and sitting in the place vacated
by DEVENISH_). I got most of the things, Delia. (_To_ DEVENISH.)
"The things," Mr. Devenish, is my rather stuffy way of referring to all
the delightful poems that you are going to eat to-night.
DEVENISH. I am looking forward to it immensely, Mrs. Tremayne.
BELINDA. I do hope I've got all your and Mr. Baxter's favourite dishes.
DEVENISH (_annoyed and, moving to_ L. _foot of table_ C.). I'm
afraid Mr. Baxter and I are not likely to appreciate the same things.
BELINDA (_coyly_). Oh, Mr. Devenish! And you were so unanimous a
few days ago.
DELIA. I think Mr. Devenish. was referring entirely to things to eat.
BELINDA. I felt quite sad when I was buying the lamb cutlets. To think
that, only a few days before, they had been frisking about with their
mammas, and having poems written about them by Mr.
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