BELINDA. And discovered she was dark and not fair.

DEVENISH. She will be dark in my next volume.

BELINDA. Oh, how nice of her!

BAXTER (kindly). You should write a real poem to Mrs. Tremayne.

BELINDA (excitedly). Oh do! "To Belinda." I don't know what rhymes,
except cinder. You could say your heart was like a cinder--all
burnt up.

DEVENISH (pained). Oh, my lady, I'm afraid that is a cockney rhyme.

BELINDA. How thrilling! I've never been to Hampstead Heath.

DEVENISH. "Belinda." It is far too beautiful to rhyme with anything
but itself.

BELINDA. Fancy! But what about Tremayne? (Singing.) Oh, I am Mrs.
Tremayne, and I don't want to marry again.

DEVENISH (protesting). My lady!

BAXTER (protesting). Belinda!

BELINDA (pointing excitedly to BAXTER). There, that's the first
time he's called me Belinda!