The Red House Mystery and Other Novels. A. A. Milne
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back of the table. She speaks in a confidential whisper_.) I'm just going to show him the Encyclopedia Britannica. (_She moves below the settee to the door_ R.) You won't mind waiting--Delia will be in directly.
(BAXTER, _still muttering "Library," crosses to the door and opens it for her. She goes out and he follows her_. DEVENISH _moves to the R. of the swing doors and welcomes_ DELIA _and_ TREMAYNE. TREMAYNE _enters from the portico and holds open the swing doors for_ DELIA.)
DELIA (_speaking from the portico_). Hullo, we're just coming in.
(_They enter and_ DELIA _moves down_ R. _of the table_.)
TREMAYNE. Where's Mrs. Tremayne?
DEVENISH (_moving to down_ R.). She's gone to the library with Baxter.
TREMAYNE (_coming down on_ DELIA'S R. _side--carelessly_). Oh, the library. Where's that?
DEVENISH (_promptly going towards the door, opening it and standing above it_). The end door on the right.
(DELIA _sits on the_ R. _end of the table facing_ R.)
Right at the end. You can't mistake it. On the right.
TREMAYNE. Ah, yes. (_He looks round at_ DELIA, _who points significantly at the door twice_.) Yes. (_He looks at_ DEVENISH.) Yes. (_He goes out_.)
(DEVENISH _hastily shuts the door and comes back to_ DELIA.)
DEVENISH. I say, your mother is a ripper.
DELIA (_enthusiastically_). Isn't she! (_Remembering_.) At least, you mean my aunt?
DEVENISH (_smiling at her_). No, I mean your mother. To think that I once had the cheek to propose to her.
DELIA. Oh! Is it cheek to propose to people!
DEVENISH. To _her_.
DELIA. But not to me?
DEVENISH. Oh I say, Delia!
DELIA (_with great dignity_). Thank you, my name is Miss Robinson-- I mean, Tremayne.
DEVENISH. Well, if you're not quite sure which it is, it's much safer to call you Delia.
DELIA (_smiling_). Well, perhaps it is.
DEVENISH. And if I did propose to you, you haven't answered
DELIA (_sitting in the chair_ R. _of the table_). If you want an answer now, it's no; but if you like to wait till next April-----
DEVENISH (_moving up to behind table--reproachfully_). Oh, I say, and I cut my hair for you the same afternoon. (_Turning quickly_.) You haven't really told me how you like it yet.
DELIA. Oh, how bad of me! You look lovely.
DEVENISH (_sitting at back of the table_). And I promised to give up poetry for your sake.
DELIA. Perhaps I oughtn't to have asked you that.
DEVENISH. As far as I'm concerned, Delia, I'll do it gladly, but, of course, one has to think about posterity.
DELIA. But you needn't be a poet. You could give posterity plenty to think about if you were a statesman.
DEVENISH. I don't quite see your objection to poetry.
DELIA. You would be about the house so much. I want you to go away every day and do great things, and then come home in the evening and tell me all about it.
DEVENISH. Then you _are_ thinking of marrying me!
DELIA. Well, I was just thinking in case I had to.
DEVENISH (_he rises and taking her hands, raises her from the chair. She backs a step to_ R.). Do. It would be rather fun if you did. And look here--(_he pulls her gently back. They both sit on the table. He places his arm round her waist_)--I _will_ be a statesman, if you like, and go up to Downing Street every day, and come back in the evening and tell you all about it.
DELIA. How nice of you!
DEVENISH (_magnificently, holding up his_ L. _hand to Heaven_). Farewell, Parnassus!
DELIA (_pulling down his hand_). What does that mean?
DEVENISH. Well, it means that I've chucked poetry. A statesman's life is the life for me; behold Mr. Devenish, the new M.P.--(_she holds up her_ L. _hand admonishingly and he laughs apologetically _)--no, look here, that was quite accidental.
DELIA (_smiling at him_). I believe I shall really like you when I get to know you.
DEVENISH. I don't know if it's you, or Devonshire, or the fact that I've had my hair cut, but I feel quite a different being from what I was three days ago.
DELIA. You _are_ different. (_They both rise from the table. She pulls him to_ R. _one step_.) Perhaps it's your sense of humour coming back.
DEVENISH. Perhaps that's it. It's a curious feeling.
DELIA (_pulling him towards the swing doors_). Let's go outside; there's a heavenly moon.
DEVENISH. Moon? Moon? Now where have I heard that word before?
DELIA. What _do_ you mean?
DEVENISH. I was trying not to be a poet.
(DELIA _opens the doors_.)
Well, I'll come with you, but I shall refuse to look at it. (_Putting his_ L. _hand behind his back, he walks slowly out with her, saying to himself_) The Prime Minister then left the House.
(_They cross the windows at the back and go off_ L.)
(BELINDA _and_ TREMAYNE _come from the library, the latter holding the door for her to pass_.)
BELINDA (_moving below the settee across the room_). Thank you. I don't think it's unkind to leave him, do you? He seemed quite happy.
TREMAYNE (_following her_). I shouldn't have been happy if we'd stayed.
BELINDA (_reaching the Chesterfield she puts her feet up. Her head it towards_ L.). Yes, but I was really thinking of Mr. Baxter.
TREMAYNE (_above table_ C.). Not of me?
BELINDA. Well, I thought it was Mr. Baxter's turn. Poor man, he's had a disappointment lately.
TREMAYNE (_coming to B. of the Chesterfield--eagerly_). A disappointment?
BELINDA. Yes, he thought I was--younger than I was.
TREMAYNE (_smiling to himself_). How old are you, Belinda?
BELINDA (_dropping her eyes_). Twenty-two. (_After a pause_.) He thought I was eighteen. Such a disappointment!
TREMAYNE (_smiling openly at her_). Belinda, how old are you?
BELINDA. Just about the right age, Mr. Robinson.
TREMAYNE. The right age for what?
BELINDA. For this sort of conversation.
TREMAYNE. Shall I tell you how old you are?
BELINDA. Do you mean in figures or--poetically?
TREMAYNE.