The Red House Mystery and Other Novels. A. A. Milne
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anybody seriously, Belinda?
BELINDA. I don't ever do anything very seriously. The late Mr. Tremayne, my first husband--Jack--Isn't it funny, _his_ name was Jack--he used to complain about it too sometimes.
TREMAYNE (with conviction). Silly ass!
BELINDA. Ah, I think you are a little hard on the late Mr. Tremayne.
TREMAYNE. Has he been dead long?
BELINDA. Dead to me.
TREMAYNE. You quarrelled?
BELINDA. Yes. It was his fault entirely.
TREMAYNE. I'm sure it was.
BELINDA. How sweet of you to say that!
TREMAYNE. Belinda, I want you to marry me and forget about him.
BELINDA (happily to herself). This is the proposal that those lamb cutlets interrupted this morning.
TREMAYNE. Belinda, I love you--do you understand?
BELINDA. Suppose my first husband turns up suddenly like--like E. A.?
TREMAYNE. Like who?
BELINDA. Well, like anybody.
TREMAYNE. He won't--I know he won't. Don't you love me enough to risk it, Belinda?
BELINDA. I haven't really said I love you at all yet.
TREMAYNE. Well, say it now. (BELINDA looks at him, and then down again.) You do! Well, I'm going to have a kiss, anyway, (He comes round the sofa and kisses her quickly.) There!
BELINDA (rising). O-oh! The late Mr. Tremayne never did that.
TREMAYNE. I have already told you that he was a silly ass. (Sitting down on the sofa) Belinda--
BELINDA. Yes, Henry--I mean, Jack?
TREMAYNE. Do you know who I am! (He is thoroughly enjoying the surprise he is about to give her.)
BELINDA (nodding). Yes, Jack.
TREMAYNE. Who?
BELINDA. Jack Tremayne.
TREMAYNE (jumping up). Good heavens, you _know_!
BELINDA (gently). Yes, Jack.
TREMAYNE (angrily). You've known all the time that I was your husband, and you've been playing with me and leading me on?
BELINDA (mildly). Well, darling, you knew all the time that I was your wife, and you've been making love to me and leading me on.
TREMAYNE. That's different.
BELINDA. That's _just_ what the late Mr. Tremayne said, and then he slammed the door and went straight off to the Rocky Mountains and shot bears; and I didn't see him again for eighteen years.
TREMAYNE (remorsefully). Darling, I was a fool then, and I'm a fool now.
BELINDA. I was a fool then, but I'm not such a fool now--I'm not going to let you go. It's quite time I married and settled down.
TREMAYNE. You darling! How did you find out who I was?
BELINDA (awkwardly). Well, it was rather curious, darling. (After a pause.) It was April, and I felt all sort of Aprily, and--and--there was the garden all full of daffodils--and--and there was Mr. Baxter--the one we left in the library--knowing all about moles. He's probably got the M volume down now. Well, we were talking about them one day, and I happened to say that the late Mr. Tremayne--that was you, darling--had rather a peculiar one on his arm. And then he happened to see it this morning and told me about it.
TREMAYNE. What an extraordinary story!
BELINDA. Yes, darling; it's really much more extraordinary than that. I think perhaps I'd better tell you the rest of it another time. (Coaxingly.) Now show me where the nasty lion scratched you. (TREMAYNE pulls up his sleeve.) Oh! (She kisses his arm.) You shouldn't have left Chelsea, darling.
TREMAYNE. I should never have found you if I hadn't.
BELINDA (squeezing his arm). No, Jack, you wouldn't. (After a pause.) I--I've got another little surprise for you if--if you're ready for it. (Standing up) Properly speaking, I ought to be wearing white. I shall certainly stand up while I'm telling you. (Modestly.) Darling, we have a daughter--our little Delia.
TREMAYNE. Delia? You said her name was Robinson.
BELINDA. Yes, darling, but you said yours was. One always takes one's father's name. Unless, of course, you were Lord Robinson.
TREMAYNE. But you said her name was Robinson before you--oh, never mind about that. A daughter? Belinda, how could you let me go and not tell me?
BELINDA. You forget how you'd slammed the door. It isn't the sort of thing you shout through the window to a man on his way to America.
TREMAYNE (taking her in his arms). Oh, Belinda, don't let me ever go away again.
BELINDA. I'm not going to, Jack. I'm going to settle down into a staid old married woman.
TREMAYNE. Oh no, you're not. You're going on just as you did before. And I'm going to propose to you every April, and win you, over all the other men in love with you.
BELINDA. You darling!
[DELIA and DEVENISH come in from the garden.]
TREMAYNE (quietly to BELINDA). Our daughter.
DELIA (going up to TREMAYNE). You're my father.
TREMAYNE. If you don't mind very much, Delia.
DELIA. You've been away a long time.
TREMAYNE. I'll do my best to make up for it.
BELINDA. Delia, darling, I think you might kiss your poor old father.
(As the does to, DEVENISH suddenly and hastily kisses BELINDA on the cheek.)
DEVENISH. Just in case you're going to be my mother-in-law.
TREMAYNE. We seem to be rather a family party.
BELINDA (suddenly). There! We've forgotten Mr. Baxter again.
BAXTER (who has come in quietly with a book in his hand). Oh, don't mind about me, Mrs. Tremayne. I've enjoyed myself immensely. (Referring to his book.) I have been collecting some most valuable information on (looking round at them) lunacy in the--er--county of _Devonshire_.
THE RED FEATHERS
AN OPERETTA IN ONE ACT
[In the living-room of a country-house, half farm, half manor, a MOTHER and her DAUGHTER are sitting. It is any year you please-- between, let us say, the day when the fiddle first came to England and the day when Romance left it. As for the time of the year, let us call it May. Oh yes, it is certainly May, and about twelve o'clock, and the DAUGHTER is singing at the spinet, while her MOTHER is at her needlework. Through the lattice windows the murmur of a stream can be heard, on whose banks--but we shall come to that directly. Let us listen now to what the DAUGHTER is singing:]
Life passes by. I do not know its pleasure or its pain--