First Plays

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DELIA (to DEVENISH as she picks up the flowers). Come along, Mr.
Devenish.

BELINDA (wickedly). Are those my flowers, Mr. Devenish?

DEVENISH (after a little hesitation, with a bow which might refer
to either of them). They are for the most beautiful lady in the
land.

BELINDA. Oh, how nice of you!

[DEVENISH follows DELIA out through the door on the left.]

BELINDA (unpinning her hat before a mirror). I suppose he means
Delia--bless them! (She gives a few pats to her hair and then walks
about the room singing softly to herself. She does to the front-door
and looks happily out into the garden. Suddenly she sees MR.
BAXTER approaching. She hurries back into a chair and pretends to
be very busy reading.)

BAXTER (rather nervously). Er--may I come in, Mrs. Tremayne?

BELINDA (dropping her book and turning round with a violent start).
Oh, Mr. Baxter, how you surprised me! (She puts her hand to her
heart.)

BAXTER. I must apologize for intruding upon you at this hour, Mrs.
Tremayne.

BELINDA (holding up her hand). Stop!

BAXTER (startled). What?

BELINDA. I cannot let you come in like that.

BAXTER (looking down at himself). Like what?

BELINDA (dropping her eyes). You called me Belinda once.

BAXTER (coming down to her). May I explain my position, Mrs.
Tremayne?

BELINDA. Before you begin--have you been seeing my niece lately?

BAXTER (surprised). No.

BELINDA. Oh! (Sweetly.) Please go on.

BAXTER. Why, is _she_ lost too?

BELINDA. Oh no; I just--Do sit down. Let me put your hat down
somewhere for you.

BAXTER (keeping it firmly in his hand, and sitting down on the
sofa). It will be all right here, thank you.

BELINDA (returning to her chair). I'm dying to hear what you are
going to say.

BAXTER. First as regards the use of your Christian name. I felt
that, as a man of honour, I could not permit myself to use it until
I had established my right over that of Mr. Devenish.

BELINDA. All my friends call me Belinda.

BAXTER. As between myself and Mr. Devenish the case is somewhat
different. Until one of us is successful over the other in the
quest upon which you have sent us, I feel that as far as possible
we should hold aloof from you.

BELINDA (pleadingly). Just say "Belinda" once more, in case you're
a long time.

BAXTER (very formally). Belinda.

BELINDA. How nicely you say it--Harold.

BAXTER (half getting out of his seat). Mrs. Tremayne, I must not
listen to this.

BELINDA (meekly). I won't offend again, Mr. Baxter. Please go on.
Tell me about the quest; are you winning?

BAXTER. I am progressing, Mrs. Tremayne. Indeed, I came here this
morning to acquaint you with the results of my investigations.
Yesterday I located a man called Robinson working upon a farm close
by. I ventured to ask him if he had any marks upon him by which he
could be recognized. He adopted a threatening attitude, and replied
that if I wanted any he could give me some. With the aid of half-a-
crown I managed to placate him. Putting my inquiry in another form,
I asked if he had any moles. A regrettable misunderstanding, which
led to a fruitless journey to another part of the village, was
eventually cleared up, and on my return I satisfied myself that
this man was in no way related to your niece.

BELINDA (admiringly). How splendid of you! Well, now, we know
_he's_ not. (She holds up one finger.)

BAXTER. Yes. In the afternoon I located another Mr. Robinson
following the profession of a carrier. My first inquiries led to a
similar result, with the exception that in this case Mr. Robinson
carried his threatening attitude so far as to take off his coat and
roll up his sleeves. Perceiving at once that he was not the man, I
withdrew.

BELINDA. How brave you are! That makes two. (She holds up another
finger). It still leaves a good many. (Pleadingly.) Just call me
Belinda again.

BAXTER (nervously). You mustn't tempt me, Mrs. Tremayne.

BELINDA (penitently). I won't!

BAXTER. To resume, then, my narrative. This morning I have heard of
a third Mr. Robinson. Whether there is actually any particular
fortune attached to the number three I cannot say for certain. It
is doubtful whether statistics would be found to support the
popular belief. But one likes to flatter oneself that in one's own
case it may be true; and so--

BELINDA. And so the third Mr. Robinson--?

BAXTER. Something for which I cannot altogether account inspires me
with hope. He is, I have discovered, staying at Mariton. This
afternoon I go to look for him.

BELINDA (to herself). Mariton! How funny! I wonder if it's the
same one.

BAXTER. What one?

BELINDA. Oh, just one of the ones. (Gratefully.) Mr. Baxter, you
are doing all this for _me_.

BAXTER. Pray do not mention it. I don't know if it's Devonshire, or
the time of the year, or the sort of atmosphere you create, Mrs.
Tremayne, but I feel an entirely different man. There is something
in the air which--yes, I shall certainly go over to Mariton this
afternoon.

BELINDA (gravely). I have had the same feeling sometimes, Mr.
Baxter. I am not always the staid respectable matron which I appear
to you to be. Sometimes I--(She looks absently at the watch on her
wrist.) Good gracious!

BAXTER (alarmed). What is it!

BELINDA (looking anxiously from the door to him). Mr. Baxter, I'm
going to throw myself on your mercy.

BAXTER. My dear Mrs. Tremayne--

BELINDA (looking at her watch again). A strange man will be here
directly. He must not find you with me.

BAXTER (rising, jealously). A man?

BELINDA (excitedly). Yes, yes, a man! He is pursuing me with his
attentions. If he found you here, there would be a terrible scene.

BAXTER. I will defend you from him.

BELINDA. No, no. He is a big man. He will--he will overpower you.

BAXTER. But you--?

BELINDA. I can defend myself. I will send him away. But he must not
find you here. You must hide before he overpowers you.

BAXTER (with dignity). I will withdraw if you wish it.

BELINDA. No, not withdraw, hide. He might see you withdrawing.
(Leading the way to a door on the right) Quick, in here.

BAXTER (embarrassed at the thought that this sort of thing really
only happens in a bedroom farce). I don't think I quite--

BELINDA (reassuring him). It's perfectly respectable; it's where
we keep the umbrellas. (She takes him by the hand.)

BAXTER (still resisting). I'm not at all sure that I--

BELINDA (earnestly). Oh, but don't you see what _trust_ I'm
putting in you? Some people are so nervous about their umbrellas.

BAXTER. Well, of course, if you--but I don't see why I shouldn't
just slip out of the door before he comes.

BELINDA (reproachfully). Of course, if you grudge me every little
pleasure--Quick! Here he is.

(She bundles him through the door, and with a sigh of happiness
comes back and looks at herself in the mirror. She goes to the
front-door, moves her hand to somebody in the distance, and comes
into the hall again. Seeing MR. BAXTER'S bowler hat on the sofa,
she carries across to his door, knocks, hands it to him, saying,
"Your hat. S'sh!" and returns to her chair. TREMAYNE comes in.)

TREMAYNE (at the door). It's no good your pretending to be
surprised, because you said I could come.

BELINDA (welcoming him). But I can still be surprised that you
wanted to come.

TREMAYNE Oh no, you aren't.

BELINDA (marking it off on her fingers). Just a little bit--that
much.

TREMAYNE. It would be much more surprising if I hadn't come.

BELINDA (sitting down on the sofa). It is a pretty garden, isn't
it?

TREMAYNE (sitting down next to her). You forget that I saw the
garden yesterday.

BELINDA. Oh, but the things have grown so much since then. Let me
see, this is the third day you've been and we only met three days
ago. And then you're coming to dinner again to-night.

TREMAYNE (eagerly). Am I?

BELINDA. Yes. Haven't you been asked?

TREMAYNE. No, not a word.

BELINDA. Yes, that's quite right; I remember now, I only thought of
it this morning, so I couldn't ask you before, could I?

TREMAYNE (earnestly). What made you think of it then?

BELINDA (romantically). It was at the butcher's. There was one
little lamb cutlet left over and sitting out all by itself, and
there was nobody to love it. And I said to myself, suddenly, "I
know, that will do for Mr. Robinson." (Prosaically.) I do hope you
like lamb?

TREMAYNE. I adore it.

BELINDA. Oh, I'm so glad! When I saw it sitting there I thought
you'd love it. I'm afraid I can't tell you any more about the rest
of the dinner, because I wouldn't tell Mr. Devenish, and I want to
be fair.

TREMAYNE. Who's Mr. Devenish?

BELINDA. Oh, haven't you met him? He's always coming here.

TREMAYNE Is he in love with you too?

BELINDA. Too? Oh, you mean Mr. Baxter.

TREMAYNE. Confound it, that's three!

BELINDA (innocently). Three? (She looks up at him and down again.)

TREMAYNE. Who is Mr. Baxter?

BELINDA. Oh, haven't you met him? He's always coming here.

TREMAYNE. Who is Mr. Baxter?

BELINDA. Oh, he's a sort of statistician. Isn't that a horrid word
to say? So stishany.

TREMAYNE. What does he make statistics about?

BELINDA. Oh, umbrellas and things. Don't let's talk about him.

TREMAYNE. All right, then; who is Mr. Devenish?

BELINDA. Oh, he's a poet. (She throws up her eyes and sighs
deeply.) Ah me!

TREMAYNE. What does he write poetry about? (BELINDA looks at him,
and down again, and then at him again, and then down, and gives a
little sigh--all of which means, "Can't you guess?") What does he
write poetry about?

BELINDA (obediently). He wrote "The Lute of Love and other Poems,
by Claude Devenish." The Lute of Love--(To herself.) I haven't been
saying that lately. (With great expression.) The Lute of Love--the
Lute. (She pats her mouth back.)

TREMAYNE. And what is Mr. Devenish--

BELINDA (putting her hand on his sleeve). You'll let me know when
it's my turn, won't you?

TREMAYNE. Your turn?

BELINDA. Yes, to ask questions. I love this game--it's like clumps.
(She crosses her hands on her lap and waits for the next question.)

TREMAYNE. I beg your pardon. I--er--of course have no right to
cross-examine you like this.

BELINDA. Oh, do go on, I love it. (With childish excitement.)
I've got my question ready.

TREMAYNE (smiling). I think perhaps it _is_ your turn.

BELINDA (eagerly). Is it really? (He nods.) Well then--_who_ is Mr.
Robinson?

TREMAYNE (alarmed). What?

BELINDA. I think it's a fair question. I met you three days ago and
you told me you were staying at Mariton. Mariton. You can say it
all right now, can't you?

TREMAYNE. I think so.

BELINDA (coaxingly). Just say it.

TREMAYNE. Mariton.

BELINDA (clapping her hands). Lovely! I don't think any of the
villagers do it as well as that.

TREMAYNE. Well?

BELINDA. Well, that was three days ago. You came the next day to
see the garden, and you came the day after to see the garden, and
you've come this morning--to see the garden; and you're coming to
dinner to-night, and it's so lovely, we shall simply have to go
into the garden afterwards. And all I know about you is that you
_haven't_ any relations called Robinson.

TREMAYNE. What do I know about Mrs. Tremayne but that she _has_ a
relation called Robinson?

BELINDA. And two dear friends called Devenish and Baxter.

TREMAYNE (annoyed). I was forgetting them.

BELINDA (to herself). I mustn't forget Mr. Baxter.

TREMAYNE (getting up). But what does it matter? What would it
matter if I knew nothing about you? I know everything about you--
everything that matters.

BELINDA (closing her eyes contentedly). Tell me some of them.

TREMAYNE (bending over her earnestly). Belinda--

BELINDA (still with her eyes shut). He's going to propose to me.
I can feel it coming.

TREMAYNE. Confound it! how many men _have_ proposed to you?

BELINDA (surprised). Since when?

TREMAYNE. Since your first husband proposed to you.

BELINDA. Oh, I thought you meant this year. (Sitting up.) Well
now, let me see. (Slowly and thoughtfully.) One. (She pushes
up her first finger.) Two. (She pushes up the second.) Three.
(She pushes up the third finger, holds it there for a moment and
then pushes it gently down again.) No, I don't think that one ought
to count really. (She pushes up two more fingers and the thumb.)
Three, four, five--do you want the names or just the total?

TREMAYNE. This is horrible.

BELINDA (innocently). But anybody can propose. Now if you'd asked
how many I'd accepted--Let me see, where was I up to? I shan't
count yours, because I haven't really had it yet. Six, seven--Yes,
Betty, what is it?

[BETTY has just come in from the door on the left.]

BETTY. If you please, ma'am, cook would like to speak to you for a
minute.

BELINDA (getting up). Yes, I'll come. (To TREMAYNE.) You'll forgive
me, won't you? You'll find some cigarettes there. (She starts to
go, but comes back and adds confidentially) It's probably about the
lamb cutlets; I expect your little one refuses to be cooked.

[She goes out after BETTY.]

(Left alone, TREMAYNE stalks moodily about the room, occasionally
kicking things which come in his way. He takes up his hat suddenly
and goes towards the door; stops irresolutely and comes back. He is
standing in the middle of the room with his hands in his pockets
when DEVENISH comes in from the door on the left.)

DEVENISH (surprised). Hullo!

TREMAYNE Hullo! ... Are you Mr. Devenish?

DEVENISH. Yes.

TREMAYNE. Devenish the poet?

DEVENISH (coming up and shaking him warmly by the hand). My dear
fellow, you know my work?

TREMAYNE (grimly). My dear Mr. Devenish, your name is most
familiar to me.

DEVENISH. I congratulate you. I thought your great-grandchildren
would be the first to hear of me.

TREMAYNE. My name's Robinson, by the way.

DEVENISH. Then let me return the compliment, Robinson. Your name is
familiar to _me_.

TREMAYNE (hastily). I don't think I'm related to any Robinsons you
know.

DEVENISH. Well, no, I suppose not. When I was very much younger I
began a collection of Robinsons. Actually it was only three days
ago, but it seems much longer. Many things have happened since
then.

TREMAYNE (uninterested). Really!

DEVENISH. There is a man called Baxter who is still collecting, I
believe. For myself, I am only interested in one of the great
family--Delia.

TREMAYNE (eagerly). You are interested in _her_?

DEVENISH. Devotedly. In fact, I am at this moment waiting for her
to put on her hat.

TREMAYNE (warmly). My dear Devenish, I am delighted to make your
acquaintance. (He seizes his hand and grips it heartily.) How are
you?

DEVENISH (feeling his fingers). Fairly well, thanks.

TREMAYNE. That's right. (They sit on the sofa together.)

DEVENISH (still nursing his hand). You are a very lucky fellow,
Robinson.

TREMAYNE. In what way?

DEVENISH. People you meet must be so very reluctant to say good-bye
to you. Have you ever tried strangling lions or anything like that?

TREMAYNE (with a laugh). Well, as a matter of fact, I have.

DEVENISH. I suppose you won all right?

TREMAYNE. In the end, with the help of my beater.

DEVENISH. Personally I should have backed you alone against any two
ordinary lions.

TREMAYNE. One was quite enough. As it was, he gave me something to
remember him by. (Putting up his left sleeve, he displays a deep
scar.)

DEVENISH (looking at it casually). By Jove, that's a nasty one!
(He suddenly catches sight of the mole and stares at it
fascinated.) Good heavens!

TREMAYNE. What's the matter?

DEVENISH (clasping his head). Wait. Let me think. (After a pause.)
Have you ever met a man called Baxter?

TREMAYNE. No.

DEVENISH. Would you like to?

TREMAYNE (grimly). Very much indeed.

DEVENISH. He's the man I told you about who's interested in
Robinsons. He'll be delighted to meet you. (With a nervous laugh.)
Funny thing, he's rather an authority on lions. You must show him
that scar of yours; it will intrigue him immensely. (Earnestly.)
_Don't_ shake hands with him too heartily just at first; it might
put him off the whole thing.

TREMAYNE. This Mr. Baxter seems to be a curious man.

DIVENISH (absently). Yes, he is rather odd. (Looking at his
watch.) I wonder if I--(To TREMAYNE.) I suppose you won't be--(He
stops suddenly. A slight tapping noise comes from the room where
they keep umbrellas.)

TREMAYNE. What's that!

(The tapping noise is repeated, a little more loudly this time.)

DEVENISH. Come in.

(The door opens and BAXTER comes in nervously, holding his
bowler hat in his hand.)

BAXTER. Oh, I just--(TREMAYNE _stands up)--I just--(He goes back
again.)

DEVENISH (springing across the room). Baxter! (The door opens
nervously again and BAXTER'S head appears round it.) Come in,
Baxter, old man; you're just the very person I wanted. (BAXTER
comes in carefully.) Good man. (To TREMAYNE) This is Mr. Baxter
that I was telling you about.

TREMAYNE (much relieved at the appearance of his rival). Oh, is
this Mr. Baxter? (Holding out his hand with great friendliness)
How are you, Mr. Baxter?

DEVENISH (warningly). Steady! (TREMAYNE shakes BAXTER quite gently
by the hand.) Baxter, this is Mr. Robinson. (Casually.) R-o-b-i-n-
s-o-n. (He looks sideways at BAXTER to see how he takes it. BAXTER
is noticeably impressed.)

BAXTER. Really? I am very glad to meet you, sir.

TREMAYNE. Very good of you to say so.

DEVENISH (to BAXTER). Robinson is a great big-game hunter.

BAXTER. Indeed? I have never done anything in that way myself, but
I'm sure it must be an absorbing pursuit.

TREMAYNE. Oh, well, it's something to do.

DEVENISH (to BAXTER). You must get him to tell you about a wrestle
he had with a lion once. Extraordinary story! (Looking at his watch
suddenly.) Jove! I must be off. See you again, Baxter. Good-bye,
Robinson. No, don't shake hands. I'm in a hurry. [He looks at his
watch again and goes out hurriedly by the door on the left.]

(TREMAYNE sit down together on the sofa.)

TREMAYNE. Unusual man, your friend Devenish. I suppose it comes of
being a poet.

BAXTER. I have no great liking for Mr. Devenish--

TREMAYNE. Oh, he's all right.

BAXTER. But I am sure that if he is impressed by anything outside
himself or his own works, it must be something rather remarkable.
Pray tell me of your adventure with the lion.

TREMAYNE (laughing). Really, you mustn't think that I go about
telling everybody my adventures. It just happened to come up. I'm
afraid I shook his hand rather more warmly than I meant, and he
asked me if I'd ever tried strangling lions. That was all.

BAXTER. And had you?

TREMAYNE. Well, it just happened that I had.

BAXTER. Indeed! You came off scathless, I trust?

TREMAYNE (carelessly indicating his arm). Well, he got me one
across there.

BAXTER (obviously excited). Really, really. One across there. Not
bad, I hope?

TREMAYNE (laughing). Well, it doesn't show unless I do that. (He
pulls up his sleeve carelessly and BAXTER bends eagerly over his
arm.)

BAXTER. Good heavens! I've found it!

TREMAYNE. Found what? (He pulls down his sleeve.)

BAXTER. I must see Mrs. Tremayne. Where's Mrs. Tremayne?

TREMAYNE. She went out just now. What's the matter?

BAXTER. Out! I must find her. This is a matter of life and death.
[He seizes his hat and hurries out by the front door.]

(TREMAYNE stares after him in amazement. Then he pulls up his
sleeve, looks at his scar again and shakes his head. While he is
still puzzling over it, BELINDA comes back.)

BELINDA. Such a to-do in the kitchen! The cook's given notice--at
least she will directly--and your lamb cutlet slipped back to the
shop when nobody was looking, and I've got to go into the village
again, and oh dear, oh dear, I have such a lot of things to do!
(Looking across at MR. BAXTER'S door.) Oh yes, that's another one.
Mr. Robinson, you will have to leave me. Farewell.

TREMAYNE. Belinda--

BELINDA. No, not even Belinda. Wait till this evening.

TREMAYNE. I have a thousand things to say to you; I shall say them
this evening.

BELINDA (giving him her hand). Begin about eight o'clock. Good-bye
till then.

[He takes her hand, looks at her for a moment, then suddenly bends
and kisses it, and out.]

(BELINDA stands looking from her hand to him, gives a little
wondering exclamation and then presses the back of her hand against
her cheek, and goes to the swing doors. She turns back, and
remembers MR. BAXTER again. With a smile she goes to the door and
taps gently.)

BELINDA. Mr. Baxter, Mr. Baxter, you may come in now; he has
withdrawn. I have unhanded him. (She opens the door and finds the
room empty.) Oh!

[BAXTER comes in at the front door.]

BAXTER. Ah, there you are!

BELINDA (turning with a start). Oh, how you frightened me, Mr.
Baxter! I couldn't think what had happened to you. I thought
perhaps you'd been eaten up by one of the umbrellas.

BAXTER. Mrs. Tremayne, I have some wonderful news for you. I have
found Miss Robinson's father.

BELINDA (hardly understanding). Miss Robinson's father?

BAXTER. Yes. _Mr_. Robinson.

BELINDA. Oh, you mean--Oh yes, he told me his name was Robinson--
Oh, but he's no relation.

BAXTER. Wait! I saw his arm. By a subterfuge I managed to see his
arm.

BELINDA (her eyes opening more and more widely as she begins to
realize). You saw--

BAXTER. I saw the mole.

BELINDA (faintly as she holds out her own arm). Show me.

BAXTER (very decorously indicating). There!

(BELINDA holds the place with her other hand, and still looking
at MR. BAXTER, slowly begins to laugh--half-laughter, half-tears,
wonderingly, happily, contentedly.)

BELINDA. And I didn't know!

BAXTER. Mrs. Tremayne, I am delighted to have done this service for
your niece--

BELINDA (to herself). Of course, _he_ knew all the time.

BAXTER (to the world). Still more am I delighted to have gained
the victory over Mr. Devenish in this enterprise.

BELINDA. Eighteen years--but I _ought_ to have known.

BAXTER (at large). I shall not be accused of exaggerating when I
say that the odds against such an enterprise were enormous.

BELINDA. Eighteen years--And now I've eight whole _hours_ to
wait!

BAXTER (triumphantly). It will be announced to-night. "Mr.
Devenish," I shall say, "young fellow--" (He arranges his speech in
his mind.)

BELINDA. So I was right, after all! (Slowly and triumphantly.) He
_does_ look better without a beard!

BAXTER (making his speech). "Mr. Devenish, young fellow, when you
matched yourself against a man of my repute, when you matched
yourself against a man"--(BELINDA has slipped out, to enjoy her
happiness alone)--"who has read papers at soirees of the Royal
Statistical Society; when--er--"

[He looks round the room and discovers to his amazement that he is
alone. He claps on his bowler-hat, gives another amazed look round,
says with a shrug, "Unusual!" and goes out.]

ACT III

[It is after dinner in BELINDA'S hall. BELINDA is lying on the
sofa with a coffee-cup in her hand. DELIA, in the chair on the
right, has picked up "The Lute of Love" from a table and is reading
it impatiently.]

DELIA. What rubbish he writes!

BELINDA (coming back from her thoughts). Who, dear?

DELIA. Claude--Mr. Devenish. Of course, he's very young.

BELINDA. So was Keats, darling.

DELIA. I don't think Claude has had Keats' advantages. Keats
started life as an apothecary.

BELINDA. So much nicer than a chemist.

DELIA. Now, Claude started with nothing to do.

BELINDA (mildly). Do you always call him Claude, darling? I hope
you aren't going to grow into a flirt like that horrid Mrs.
Tremayne.

DELIA. Silly mother! (Seriously) I don't think he'll ever be any
good till he really gets work. Did you notice his hair this
evening?

BELINDA (dreamily). Whose, dear?

DELIA. Mummy, look me in the eye and tell me you are not being bad.

BELINDA (innocently). Bad, darling?

DELIA. You've made Mr. Robinson fall in love with you.

BELINDA (happily). Have I?

DELIA. Yes; it's serious this time. He's not like the other two.

BELINDA. However did you know that?

DELIA. Oh, I know.

BELINDA. Darling, I believe you've grown up. It's quite time I
settled down.

DELIA. With Mr. Robinson?

(BELINDA looks thoughtfully at DELIA for a little time and then
sits up.)

BELINDA (mysteriously). Delia, are you prepared for a great
secret to be revealed to you?

DELIA (childishly). Oh, I love secrets.

BELINDA (reproachfully). Darling, you mustn't take it like that.
This is a great, deep, dark secret; you'll probably need your sal
volatile.

DELIA (excitedly). Go on!

BELINDA. Well--(Looking round the room.) Shall we have the lights
down a little?

DELIA. Go _on_, mummy.

BELINDA. Well, Mr. Robinson is--(impressively)--is not quite the
Robinson he appears to be.

DELIA. Yes?

BELINDA. In fact, child, he is--Hadn't you better come and hold
your mother's hand?

DELIA (struggling with some emotion). Go _on_.

BELINDA. Well, Mr. Robinson is a--sort of relation of yours; in
fact--(playing with her rings and looking down coyly)--he is your--
father. (She looks up at DELIA to see how the news is being
received.) Dear one, this is not a matter for mirth.

DELIA (coming over and kissing her). Darling, it is lovely, isn't
it? I am laughing because I am so happy.

BELINDA. Aren't you surprised?

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