BELINDA (_admiringly_). How splendid of you!
BAXTER. Yes.
BELINDA. Well, now, we know _he's_ not. (_She holds up one
finger_.)
BAXTER. Yes. In the afternoon I located another Mr. Robinson following
the profession of a carrier. My first inquiries led to a similar result,
with the exception that in this case Mr. Robinson carried his
threatening attitude so far as to take off his coat and roll up his
sleeves. Perceiving at once that he was not the man, I withdrew.
BELINDA. How brave you are!
BAXTER. Yes.
BELINDA. That makes two.
BAXTER. Yea.
BELINDA (_holding up another finger_). It still leaves a good many.
(_Pleadingly_.) Just call me Belinda again.
BAXTER (_rising and backing to_ R. _a little, nervously_). You
mustn't tempt me, Mrs. Tremayne.
BELINDA (_penitently_). I won't!
BAXTER (_going slowly to fireplace and placing his hat down on
urmchair below fireplace_). To resume, then, my narrative. This
morning I have heard of a third Mr. Robinson. Whether there is actually
any particular fortune attached to the number three I cannot say for
certain. It is doubtful whether statistics would be found to support the
popular belief.
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