DEVENISH. Then you _are_ thinking of marrying me! DELIA. Well, I was just thinking in case I had to. DEVENISH (_he rises and taking her hands, raises her from the chair. She backs a step to_ R.). Do. It would be rather fun if you did. And look here--(_he pulls her gently back. They both sit on the table. He places his arm round her waist_)--I _will_ be a statesman, if you like, and go up to Downing Street every day, and come back in the evening and tell you all about it. DELIA. How nice of you! DEVENISH (_magnificently, holding up his_ L. _hand to Heaven_). Farewell, Parnassus! DELIA (_pulling down his hand_). What does that mean? DEVENISH. Well, it means that I've chucked poetry. A statesman's life is the life for me; behold Mr. Devenish, the new M.P.--(_she holds up her_ L. _hand admonishingly and he laughs apologetically _)--no, look here, that was quite accidental. DELIA (_smiling at him_). I believe I shall really like you when I get to know you. DEVENISH. I don't know if it's you, or Devonshire, or the fact that I've had my hair cut, but I feel quite a different being from what I was three days ago. DELIA. You _are_ different. (_They both rise from the table. She pulls him to_ R. _one step_.) Perhaps it's your sense of humour coming back. DEVENISH. Perhaps that's it. It's a curious feeling. DELIA (_pulling him towards the swing doors_). Let's go outside; there's a heavenly moon. DEVENISH. Moon? Moon? Now where have I heard that word before? DELIA. What _do_ you mean? DEVENISH. I was trying not to be a poet. (DELIA _opens the doors_.) Well, I'll come with you, but I shall refuse to look at it. (_Putting his_ L. _hand behind his back, he walks slowly out with her, saying to himself_) The Prime Minister then left the House. (_They cross the windows at the back and go off_ L.) (BELINDA _and_ TREMAYNE _come from the library, the latter holding the door for her to pass_.) BELINDA (_moving below the settee across the room_). Thank you. I don't think it's unkind to leave him, do you? He seemed quite happy. TREMAYNE (_following her_). I shouldn't have been happy if we'd stayed. BELINDA (_reaching the Chesterfield she puts her feet up. Her head it towards_ L.). Yes, but I was really thinking of Mr. Baxter. TREMAYNE (_above table_ C.). Not of me? BELINDA. Well, I thought it was Mr. Baxter's turn. Poor man, he's had a disappointment lately. TREMAYNE (_coming to B. of the Chesterfield--eagerly_). A disappointment? BELINDA. Yes, he thought I was--younger than I was. TREMAYNE (_smiling to himself_). How old are you, Belinda? BELINDA (_dropping her eyes_). Twenty-two. (_After a pause_.) He thought I was eighteen. Such a disappointment! TREMAYNE (_smiling openly at her_). Belinda, how old are you? BELINDA. Just about the right age, Mr. Robinson. TREMAYNE. The right age for what? BELINDA. For this sort of conversation. TREMAYNE. Shall I tell you how old you are? BELINDA. Do you mean in figures or--poetically?