Claude
(BELINDA _gives her a quick look of surprise_.)
--Mr. Devenish. (_She rises and stands by the fireplace with her cup in her hand_.) 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! (_She moves to_ BELINDA, _takes her cup, then crosses to the table and places both the cups on the table-- 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 (_going to the back of the Chesterfield and to the_ L. _of_ BELINDA). Mummy, look me in the eye and tell me you are not being bad.
BELINDA (_having playfully turned her head away and hidden her face with her handkerchief, says innocently_). Bad, darling?
DELIA (_moving down to the front of the fireplace_). 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 _sits up and looks thoughtfully at_ DELIA _for a little time_.)
BELINDA (_mysteriously_). Delia, are you prepared for a great secret to be revealed to you?
DELIA (_childishly and jumping on to the_ L. _arm of the Chesterfield facing_ BELINDA). 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---- Darling, hadn't you better come and hold your mother's hand?
DELIA (_struggling with some emotion and placing her hand on_ BELINDA'S _arm, who playfully smacks it_). 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_.) (DELIA _gives a happy laugh_.)
Dear one, this is not a matter for mirth.
DELIA. Darling, it is lovely, isn't it? (_Sliding down to the seat of the Chesterfield next to_ BELINDA, _who moves along to make room for her_.) I am laughing because I am so happy.
BELINDA. Aren't you surprised?
DELIA. No. You see, Claude told me this morning. (BELINDA _displays annoyance_.) He found out just before Mr. Baxter.
BELINDA. Well! Every one seems to have known except me.
DELIA. Didn't you see how friendly father and I got at dinner? I thought I'd better start breaking the ice--because I suppose he'll be kissing me directly.
BELINDA. Say you like him.
DELIA. I think he's going to be awfully nice. (_She kisses_ BELINDA _and rises_.) Does he _know_ you know?
BELINDA. Not yet.
DELIA. Oh! (_She moves to the fireplace and warms her hands_.)
BELINDA. Just at present I've rather got Mr. Baxter on my mind. I suppose, darling, you wouldn't like him as well as Mr. Devenish! (_Pathetically_.) You see, they're so used to going about together.
DELIA. Claude is quite enough.
BELINDA. I think I must see Mr. Baxter and get it over. Do you mind if I have Mr. Devenish too? I feel more at home with both of them. I'll give you him back. Oh dear, I feel so happy to-night! (_She jumps up and goes to_ DELIA.) And is my little girl going to be happy too? That's what mothers always say on the stage. I think it's so sweet.
(_They move together to below table_.)
DELIA (_smiling at her_). Yes, I think so, mummy. Of course, I'm not romantic like you. I expect I'm more like father, really.
BELINDA (_dreamily_). Jack can be romantic now. He was telling me this morning all about the people he has proposed to. I mean, I was telling him. Anyhow, he wasn't a bit like a father. Of course, he doesn't know he is a father yet. Darling, I think you might take him into the garden; only don't let him know who he is. You see, he ought to propose to me first, oughtn't he?
(_The men come in from_ R. TREMAYNE _goes to the foot of the settee R., DEVENISH to the back of the table up_ R., _while_ BAXTER _stands at the back of the settee_. BELINDA _moves to the front of the settee and DELIA sits on the table_.)
Here you all are! I do hope you haven't been throwing away your cigars, because smoking is allowed all over the house.
TREMAYNE (_as he comes to the foot of the settee_). Oh, we've finished, thank you.
BELINDA (_going up to the swing doors and opening them_). Isn't it a wonderful night?--and so warm for April. Delia, you must show Mr. Robinson the garden by moonlight--it's the only light he hasn't seen it by.
DEVENISH (_quickly coming to_ R. _back of table_ C.). I don't think I've ever seen it by moonlight, Miss Delia.
BELINDA (_coming down a little_). I thought poets were always seeing things by moonlight.
BAXTER
