DEVENISH (leaning over her). If only------

BELINDA. You'd better not say anything, Mr. Devenlsh. Keep it for your
next volume. (_He turns away and examines flowers on_ L. _She
sits on hammock_.) One, two, three--(_throws her legs over_)--
that was better than last time. (_They turn round to see her safely in
the hammock_. DEVENISH _leans against the_ L. _tree at her feet,
and_ BAXTER _draws the deck-chair from the right side of the table
and turns it round towards her. He presses his hat more firmly on
and sits down_.) I wonder if either of you can guess what I've been
reading this afternoon!

DEVENISH (_looking at her lovingly_). I know.

BELINDA (_giving him a fleeting look_). How did you know?

DEVENISH. Well, I-----

BELINDA (_to_ BAXTER). Yes, Mr. Baxter, it was your article I was
reading. If you'd come five minutes earlier you'd have found me
wrestling--I mean revelling in it.

BAXTER. I am very greatly honoured, Mrs. Tremayne. Ah--it seemed to me a
very interesting curve showing the rise and fall of-----

BELINDA. I hadn't got up to the curves. They _are_ interesting,
aren't they? They are really more in Mr. Devenish's line. (_To_
DEVENISH.) Mr. Devenish, it was a great disappointment to me that all
the poems in your book seemed to be written to somebody else.