BAXTER (crossly). I wish you wouldn't keep calling me "Baxter."

DEVENISH. Harold.

BAXTER. It is only by accident--an accident which we both deplore--
that we have met at all, and in any case I am a considerably older
man than yourself.

DEVENISH. Mr. Baxter--father--I have a proposal to make. We will
leave it to this beautiful flower to decide which of us the lady
loves.

BAXTER (turning round). Eh?

DEVENISH (pulling off the petals). She loves me, she loves Mr.
Baxter, she loves me, she loves Mr. Baxter--Heaven help her!--she
loves me--

BELINDA (at the garden door.). What _are_ you doing, Mr. Devenish!

DEVENISH (throwing away the flower and bowing very low). My lady.

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!