DEVENISH (_coming quickly to the back of the chair_ L. _of the
table_). Why, I must have given you the clue myself! He told me he
had a scar on his arm, and I never thought any more of it. And then I
went away innocently and left you two talking about it.
BELINDA (_alarmed_). A scar on his arm?
DEVENISH. Where a lion mauled him.
(BELINDA _gives a little cry and shudder_.)
BAXTER. It's quite healed up now, Mrs. Tremayne.
BELINDA (_looking at him admiringly_). A lion! What you two have
adventured for my sake!
BAXTER. I suppose you will admit, Devenish, that I may fairly claim to
have won?
(_Looking the picture of despair,_ DEVENISH _drops down_ L.
_of the chair, droops his head, raises his arms and lets them fall
hopelessly to his sides_.)
BELINDA. Mr. Devenish, I have never admired you so much as I do at this
moment. (_She extends her_ R. _hand to_ DEVENISH, _who gropes
for it with his_ L. _hand and eventually manages to seize it_.)
BAXTER (_noticing he is holding her hand, moving to them and looking
at them quizzically--indignantly to_ DEVENISH). I say, you know,
that's not fair.
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