hers and hers alone.

BAXTER. Then let me say that, in my opinion, you took a very great
liberty.

DEVENISH. Liberty! And this from a man who is continually forcing
his unwelcome statistics upon her.

BAXTER. At any rate, I flatter myself that there is no suggestion
of impropriety in anything that _I_ write.

DEVENISH. I'm not so sure about that, Baxter.

BAXTER. What do you mean, sir?

DEVENISH. Did you read _The Times_ this month on the new reviews!

BAXTER. Well!

DEVENISH. Oh, nothing. It just said, "Mr. Baxter's statistics are
extremely suggestive." I haven't read them, so of course I don't
know what you've been up to.

BAXTER (turning away in disgust). Pah!

DEVENISH. Poor old Baxter! (He wanders about the garden again, and,
having picked a flower, comes to rest against one of the trees
from which the hammock is swung. He leans against this and regards
the flower thoughtfully.) Baxter--