the Chesterfield and is about to speak to_ BELINDA. _She, however, silences him and he drops down to the front of the fireplace_.)

BELINDA (_sympathetically_). Poor Mr. Devenish!

DEVENISH (_pointing tragically to the table_). And to think that I actually sat on that table--no, that seat (_he points to the settee_ R., _then he moves up stage between it and the table_)-- that I sat there with him this morning, and never guessed! Why, ten minutes ago I was asking him for the nuts!

BAXTER. Aha, Devenish, you're not so clever as you thought you were.

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. It's all very well to take your defeat like a man, but you mustn't overdo it. (_They release their hands_.) Mrs. Tremayne, I claim the reward which I have earned.

BELINDA (_after a pause and rising_). Mr. Baxter--Mr. Devenish, I have something to tell you.

(DEVENISH _moves to her_ R.)

(BELINDA _kneels upon the Chesterfield facing them. 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. (_She buries her face in her hands_.)

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 (_with a threatening gesture_). 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. (_With a sly look at_ DEVENISH.) I have an idea that she will be getting married before long. (_She again glances at_ DEVENISH, _who returns her look gratefully_.)

BAXTER (_moving up_ L. _into the inner room_). None the less, the fact would be disturbing.

(DEVENISH _with a wink at_ BELINDA _crosses in front of her and warms his hands at the fire_. BELINDA _watches_ BAXTER _over the back of the Chesterfield_.)

I have never yet considered myself seriously as a step-father. (_Moving round the refectory table_.) I don't think I am going too far if I say that to some extent I have been deceived in this matter. (_He comes down to behind the_ C. _table_.)

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 (_moving to_ BELINDA). 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 (_moving to below table_). Who? 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.

DEVENISH (_eagerly_). Mrs. Tremayne, what fools we are! He _is_ your husband all the time!

BELINDA. Yes.

BAXTER (_moving up to the_ R. _of_ BELINDA). You've had a husband all the time?

BELINDA (_apologetically_). I lost him; it wasn't my fault.

BAXTER. Really, this is very confusing. I don't know where I am. I gather--I am to gather, it seems, that you are no longer eligible as a possible wife?

BELINDA. I am afraid not, Mr. Baxter.

BAXTER. But this is very confusing--(_moving towards the swing doors_)--this is very disturbing to a man of my age. For weeks past I have been regarding myself as a--a possible benedict. I have--ah--taken steps. (_Back to the_ L. _end of the_ C. _table_.) Only this morning, in writing to my housekeeper, I warned her that she might hear at any moment a most startling announcement.

DEVENISH (_cheerfully_). Oh, that's all right. That might only mean that you were getting a new bowler-hat.

BAXTER (_dropping down_ L.C. _a few steps--suddenly_). Ah, and what about you, sir? How is it that you take this so lightly? (_Triumphantly_.) I have it. It all becomes clear to me. You have transferred your affections to her daughter!

DEVENISH. Oh, I say, Baxter, this is very crude.

BELINDA. And why should he not, Mr. Baxter? (_Softly_.) He has made me very happy.

BAXTER (_staggered_). He has made you happy, Mrs. Tremayne!

BELINDA. Very happy.

BAXTER (_thoughtfully_). Oh! Oh ho! Oh ho! (_He takes a turn up the room into the inner room, muttering to himself_. BELINDA _kneels and watches him over the back of the Chesterfield. Then he comes down again to her_ R. _side_.) Mrs. Tremayne, I have taken a great resolve. (_Solemnly_.) I also will make you happy. (_Thumping his heart_.) I also will woo Miss Delia.

BELINDA. Oh!

DEVENISH. Look here, Baxter--

BAXTER (_suddenly crossing and seizing_ DEVENISH'S _arm and pulling him towards the siding doors up_ R. _between the Chesterfield and the table_). Come, we will seek Miss Delia together.

(BELINDA _seizes_ DEVENISH'S _hand as he is passing and he, clinging to it, nearly pulls her off the Chesterfield. She is very amused_.)

It may be that she will send us upon another quest in which I shall again be victorious.

(BELINDA _releases her hand and slips down into the Chesterfield. Tempestuously_.)

Come, I say--

(_He marches the resisting_ DEVENISH _to the swing doors_.)

Let us put it to the touch, to win or lose it all.