BELINDA (_enjoying herself_). You'd like to be called by a different name, wouldn't you? There's something so thrilling about taking a false name. Such a lot of adventures begin like that. How would you like to be Miss Robinson, darling? It's a nice easy one to remember. (_Persuasively_.) And you shall put your hair up so as to feel more disguised. What fun we're going to have! DELIA. You baby! All right, then, I'm Miss Robinson, your favourite niece. (_She takes her jacket from the hammock and moves towards the house_.) BELINDA. How sweet of you! No, no, not that way--you'll meet them. (_Following quickly up between tree and table to_ DELIA, _who has now reached the house_.) Oh, I'm coming with you to do your hair. (_Moving up_ C., _arm in arm with_ DELIA.) You don't think you're going to be allowed to do it yourself, when so much depends on it, and husbands leave you because of it, and---- (BELINDA, _seeing_ BETTY _entering from house, hurries_ DELIA _up_ R., _and they bob down behind the yew hedge_ R. BETTY _comes from the house into the garden, crossing to centre and up stage looking for_ BELINDA, _followed by_ MR. BAXTER _and_ MR. DEVENISH. BAXTER _gives an angry look round at_ DEVENISH _as he enters._ MR. BAXTER _is forty-five, prim and erect, with close-trimmed moustache and side-whiskers. His clothes are dark and he wears a bowler-hat_. MR. DEVENISH _is a long-haired, good-looking boy in a négligé costume; perhaps twenty-two years old, and very scornful of the world._ BAXTER _crosses to_ L. _below_ BETTY, _and turns to her with a sharp inquiring glance_. DEVENISH _moves down_ R., _languidly admiring the garden_.) BETTY (_looking about her surprised_). The mistress was here a moment ago. (_The two heads pop up from behind the hedge and then down again immediately_. BELINDA _and_ DELIA _exeunt_ R.). I expect she'll be back directly, if you'll just wait. (_She goes back into the house_.) (BAXTER, _crossing to_ R., _meets_ DEVENISH _who has moved up_ R. BAXTER _is annoyed and with an impatient gesture comes down between the tree and the table to chair_ L. _and sits_. DEVENISH _throws his felt hat on to the table and walks to the back of the hammock. He sees the review in the hammock and picks it up_.) DEVENISH. Good heavens, Baxter, she's been reading your article! BAXTER. I dare say she's not the only one. DEVENISH. That's only guesswork (_going to back of table_); you don't know of anyone else. BAXTER (_with contempt_). How many people, may I ask, have bought your poems? DEVENISH (_loftily_). I don't write for the mob. BAXTER. I think I may say that of my own work. DEVENISH. Baxter, I don't want to disappoint you, but I have reluctantly come to the conclusion that you are one of the mob. (_Throws magazine down on table, annoyed_.) Dash it! what are you doing in the country at all in a bowler-hat?