Belinda | Page 6

my own work.
DEVENISH. Baxter, I don't want to disappoint you, but I have
reluctantly come to the conclusion that you are one of the mob.
(Throws magazine down on table, annoyed.) Dash it! what are you
doing in the country at all in a bowler-hat?
BAXTER. If I wanted to be personal, I could say, "Why don't you get
your hair cut?" Only that form of schoolboy humour doesn't appeal to
me.
DEVENISH. This is not a personal matter; I am protesting on behalf of
nature. (Leaning against tree.) What do the birds and the flowers and
the beautiful trees think of your hat?
BAXTER. If one began to ask oneself what the birds thought of
things--(He pauses.)
DEVENISH. Well, and why shouldn't one ask oneself? It is better than
asking oneself what the Stock Exchange thinks of things.
BAXTER. Well (looking up at DEVENISH'S extravagant hair), it's the
nesting season. Your hair! (Suddenly.) Ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! ha!
DEVENISH (hastily smoothing it down). Really, Baxter, you're vulgar.

(He turns away and resumes his promenading, going down R. and then
round deck-chair to front of hammock. Suddenly he sees his book on
the grass beneath the hammock and makes a dash for it.) Ha, my book!
(Gloating over it.) Baxter, she reads my book.
BAXTER. I suppose you gave her a copy.
DEVENISH (exultingly). Yes, I gave her a copy. My next book will be
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."
(BAXTER makes a gesture of annoyance.)
I haven't read them, so of course I don't know what you've been up to.
BAXTER (rising, turning away in disgust and crossing up L). Pah!
DEVENISH. Poor old Baxter! (Puts book of poems down on table and
crosses below chair and gathers a daffodil from a large vase down R.
and saying "Poor old Baxter!" ad lib. BAXTER moves round back of

hammock and to R., collides with DEVENISH and much annoyed goes
down between table and tree towards chair down L.) Baxter-- (moving
to and leaning against tree R.)
BAXTER (turning to DEVENISH crossly). I wish you wouldn't keep
calling me "Baxter."
DEVENISH. Harold.
(BAXTER displays annoyance, and continues his walk to L.)
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. (Sits L.)
DEVENISH. Mr. Baxter--father--(gesture of annoyance from
BAXTER)-- 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--(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.)
BELINDA (to BAXTER). Doesn't he talk nonsense?
BAXTER. He'll grow out of it. I did.
BELINDA (moving down R. and then to centre towards hammock). Oh,
I hope not. I love talking nonsense, and I'm ever so old. (As they both
start forward to protest.) Now which one of you will say it first?
DEVENISH. You are as old as the stars and as young as the dawn.
BAXTER. You are ten years younger than I am.
BELINDA. What sweet things to say! I don't know which I like best.
DEVENISH. Where will my lady sit!
BELINDA (with an exaggerated curtsy). I will recline in the hammock,
an it please thee, my lord------
(BAXTER goes to the right of the hammock, saying "Allow me."
DEVENISH moves to the left of the hammock and holds it, takes up a
cushion