BAXTER (_turning round_). Eh?

DEVENISH (_pulling off the petals_). She loves me, she loves Mr.
Baxter, she loves me, she loves Mr. Baxter--(BELINDA _appears in the
porch_)--Heaven help her!--she loves me--

BELINDA (_coming down_ R.). What are you doing, Mr. Devenish!

DEVENISH (_throwing away the flower and bowing very low_). My lady.

(BAXTER _rises quickly_.)

BAXTER (removing his bowler-hat stiffly). Good afternoon, Mrs. Tremayne.

(_She gives her left hand to_ DEVENISH, _who kisses it, and her
right to_ BAXTER, _who shakes it_.)

BELINDA. How nice of you both to come!

BAXTER. Mr. Devenish and I are inseparable--apparently.

BELINDA. You haven't told me what you were doing, Mr. Devenish. Was it
(_plucking an imaginary flower_) "This year, next year?" or "Silk,
satin--"

DEVENISH. My lady, it was even more romantic than that. I have the
honour to announce to your ladyship that Mr. Baxter is to be a sailor.
(_Dances round imitating the hornpipe_.)