Алан Милн - Belinda

BELINDA. Oh, I am so glad I mentioned it. Wasn't it lucky, Mr. Devenish?

BAXTER. My work has been greatly handicapped of late.

(DELIA and TREMAYNE enter the garden from up L. and pass the window at the back .)

BELINDA ( sweetly ). By me?

BAXTER. I was about to say by lack of certain books to which I wanted to refer. It would be a great help. ( He moves up R, reflectively muttering "Library." )

BELINDA ( moving below and to R. of C. table ). My dear Mr. Baxter, my whole library is at your disposal. ( She turns to DEVENISH, who is on her L., and at the 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. I meant―–

BELINDA. Mr. Devenish said I was as old as the—now, I must get this the right way round—as old as the―–

TREMAYNE. I don't want to talk about Mr. Devenish.

BELINDA ( with a sigh ). Nobody ever does—except Mr. Devenish. As old as the stars, and as young as the dawn. ( Settling herself cosily .) I think that's rather a nice age to be, don't you?

TREMAYNE. A very nice age to be.

BELINDA. It's a pity he's thrown me over for Delia; I shall miss that sort of thing rather. You don't say those sort of things about your aunt–in–law―not so often.

TREMAYNE ( eagerly ). He really is in love with Miss Robinson!