DEVENISH. 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 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 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. BAXTER (indignantly to DEVENISH). I say, you know, that's not fair. It's all very well to take your defeat like a man, but you mustn't overdo it. Mrs. Tremayne, I claim the reward which I have earned. BELINDA (after a pause). Mr. Baxter--Mr. Devenish, I have something to tell you. (Penitently.) I have not been quite frank with you. I think you both ought to know that--I--I made a mistake. Delia is not my niece; she is my daughter. DEVENISH. Your daughter! I say, how ripping! (BELINDA gives him an understanding look.) BAXTER. Your daughter! BELINDA. Yes. BAXTER. But--but you aren't old enough to have a daughter of that age. BELINDA (apologetically). Well, there she is. BAXTER. But--but she's grown up. BELINDA. Quite. BAXTER. Then in that case you must be--(He hesitates, evidently working it out.) BELINDA (hastily). I'm afraid so, Mr. Baxter. BAXTER. But this makes a great difference. I had no idea. Why, when I'm fifty you would be-- BELINDA (sighing). Yes, I suppose I should. BAXTER. And when I'm sixty-- BELINDA (pleadingly to DEVENISH). Can't you stop him? DEVENISH. Look here, Baxter, another word from you and you'll never _get_ to sixty. BAXTER. And then there's Miss--er--Delia. In the event of our marrying, Mrs. Tremayne, she, I take it, would be my step-daughter. BELINDA. I don't think she would trouble us much, Mr. Baxter. I have an idea that she will be getting married before long. (She glances at DEVENISH, who returns her look gratefully.) BAXTER. None the less, the fact would be disturbing. I have never yet considered myself seriously as a step-father. I don't think I am going too far if I say that to some extent I have been deceived in this matter. BELINDA (reproachfully). And so have I. I thought you loved me. DEVENISH (sympathetically). Yes, yes. BELINDA (turning to him suddenly). _And_ Mr. Devenish too. BAXTER. Er-- DEVENISH. Er-- (They stand before her guiltily and have nothing to say.) BELINDA (with a shrug). Well, I shall have to marry somebody else, that's all. BAXTER. Who? BELINDA. I suppose Mr. Robinson. After all, if I am Delia's mother, and Mr. Baxter says that Mr. Robinson's her father, it's about time we _were_ married.