BELINDA. I hadn't got up to the curves. They _are_ interesting, aren't they? They are really more in Mr. Devenish's line. (_To_ DEVENISH.) Mr. Devenish, it was a great disappointment to me that all the poems in your book seemed to be written to somebody else. DEVENISH. It was before I met you, lady. They were addressed to the goddess of my imagination. It is only in these last few weeks that I have discovered her. BELINDA. And discovered she was dark and not fair. DEVENISH. She will be dark in my next volume. BELINDA. Oh, how nice of her! BAXTER (_kindly_). You should write a real poem to Mrs. Tremayne. BELINDA (_excitedly_). Oh do! "To Belinda." I don't know what rhymes, except cinder. You could say your heart was like a cinder--all burnt up. DEVENISH (_pained_). Oh, my lady, I'm afraid that is a cockney rhyme. BELINDA. How thrilling! I've never been to Hampstead Heath. DEVENISH. "Belinda." It is far too beautiful to rhyme with anything but itself. BELINDA. Fancy! But what about Tremayne? (_Singing_.) Oh, I am Mrs. Tremayne, and I don't want to marry again. DEVENISH (_protesting_). My lady! BAXTER (_protesting_). Belinda! BELINDA (_pointing excitedly to_ BAXTER). There, that's the first time he's called me Belinda! This naughty boy--(_indicating_ DEVENISH)--is always doing it--by accident. DEVENISH. Are you serious? BELINDA. Not as a rule. DEVENISH. You're not going to marry again? BELINDA. Well, who could I marry? DEVENISH and BAXTER (_together_). Me! BELINDA (_dropping her eyes modestly_). But this is England. BAXTER (_rising and taking off his hat, which he places on table, and going up to_ BELINDA). Mrs. Tremayne, I claim the right of age--of my greater years--to speak first. DEVENISH. Mrs. Tremayne, I-- BELINDA (_kindly to_ DEVENISH). You can speak afterwards, Mr. Devenish. It's so awkward when you both speak together. (_To_ BAXTER, _giving encouragement_.) Yes? BAXTER (_moving down a little and then returning to_ BELINDA). Mrs. Tremayne, I am a man of substantial position--(DEVENISH _sniggers-- to_ BAXTER'S _great annoyance_.) and perhaps I may say of some repute in serious circles. (DEVENISH _sniggers again_.) All that I have, whether of material or mental endowment, I lay at your feet, together with an admiration which I cannot readily put into words. As my wife I think you would be happy, and I feel that with you by my side I could achieve even greater things. BELINDA. How sweet of you! But I ought to tell you that I'm no good at figures. DEVENISH (_protesting_). My lady-- BELINDA. I don't mean what you mean, Mr. Devenish. You wait till it's your turn. (_To_ BAXTER.) Yes? BAXTER (_very formally_). I ask you to marry me, Belinda. BELINDA (_settling herself happily and closing her eyes_). O-oh!... Now it's _your_ turn, Mr. Devenish. DEVENISH (_excitedly_). Money--thank Heaven, I have no money. Reputation--thank Heaven, I have no reputation. (BAXTER, _very annoyed, moves down and sits on deck-chair_.)