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 (_to herself_). 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 I (_He kisses her_.) 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 and moving to the chair_ L. _of the table_.) 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. (_He is standing in front of the fireplace_.)

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--

(_She makes a playful move_.)

--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.

(DEVENISH _and_ DELIA _enter from up_ L. _and pa.s.s the windows on the way to the swing doors_.)

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! (_They embrace_.)

(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! (_Moving to the door_ L.) 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. (_He crosses to the arm-chair below the fireplace and places it in front of the fire_.)

(BELINDA _and_ TREMAYNE _move up into the inner room by the refectory table and embrace, their backs to_ BAXTER. DELIA _and_ DEVENISH _are by the swing doors. They also embrace, their backs to_ BAXTER.)

(_Referring to his book_.) I have been collecting some most valuable information on (looking round at them and sitting in the arm-chair and continuing to read) lunacy in the--er--county of Devonshire.

(_The_ CURTAIN _falls_.)