But not in April. (Lazily opening the book and reading.) "Tell me where is love"--well, that's the question, isn't it? (She puts the book down, gives a sigh of happiness, and lazily closes her eyes. DELIA comes into the garden, from Paris. She is decidedly a modern girl, pretty and self-possessed. Her hair is half-way up; waiting for her birthday, perhaps. She sees her mother suddenly, stops, and then goes on tiptoe to the head of the hammock. She smiles and kisses her mother on the forehead. BELINDA, looking supremely unconscious, goes on sleeping. DELIA kisses her lightly again. BELINDA wakes up with an extraordinarily natural start, and is just about to say, "Oh, Mr. Devenish--you mustn't!"--when she sees DELIA.) Delia!
DELIA. Well, mummy, aren't you glad to see me?
BELINDA. My darling child! (They kiss each other frantically.)
DELIA. Say you're glad.
BELINDA (sitting up). My darling, I'm absolutely--Hold the hammock while I get out, dear; we don't want an accident. (Getting out with DELIA'S help) They're all right when you're there, and they'll bear two tons, but they're horrid getting in and out of. (Kissing her again) Darling, it really _is_ you?
DELIA. Oh, it is jolly seeing you again. I believe you were asleep.
BELINDA (with dignity). Certainly not, child. I was reading "The Nineteenth Century"--(with an air)--and after. (Earnestly) Darling, wasn't it next Thursday you were coming back?
DELIA. No, this Thursday, silly.
BELINDA (penitently). Oh, my darling, and I was going over to Paris to bring you home.
DELIA. I half expected you.
BELINDA. So confusing their both being called Thursday. And you were leaving school for the very last time. If you don't forgive me, Delia, I shall cry.
DELIA (stroking her hand fondly). Silly mother!
(BELINDA sits down in a basket chair and DELIA sits on a table next to her.)
BELINDA. Isn't it a lovely day for April, darling! I've wanted to say that to somebody all day, and you're the first person who's given me the chance. Oh, I said it to Betty, but she only said, "Yes, ma'am."
DELIA. Poor mother!
BELINDA (jumping up suddenly and kissing DELIA again). I simply must have another one. And to think that you're never going back to school any more. (Looking at her fondly) Darling, you _are_ looking pretty.
DELIA. Am I?
BELINDA. Lovely. (Going back to her seat) And now you're going to stay with me for just as long as you want a mother. (Anxiously) Darling, you didn't mind being sent away to school, did you? It _is_ the usual thing, you know.
DELIA. Silly mother! of course it is.
BELINDA (relieved). I'm so glad you think so too.
DELIA. Have you been very lonely without me?
BELINDA. Very.
DELIA (holding up a finger). The truth, mummy!
BELINDA. I've missed you horribly, Delia. (Primly.) The absence of female companionship of the requisite--
DELIA. Are you really all alone?
BELINDA (smiling mysteriously). Well, not always, of course.
DELIA (excitedly, at she slips off the table). Mummy, I believe you're being bad again.
BELINDA. Really, darling, you forget that I'm old enough to be--in fact, am--your mother.
DELIA (nodding her head). You are being bad.
BELINDA (rising with dignity and drawing herself up to her full height). My child, that is not the way to--Oh, I say, what a lot taller I am than you!
DELIA. And prettier.
BELINDA (fluttering her eyelids). Oh, do you think so? (Firmly) Don't be silly, child.
DELIA (holding up a finger). Now tell me all that's been happening here at once.
BELINDA (with a sigh). And I was just going to ask you how you were getting on with your French.
DELIA. Bother French! You've been having a much more interesting time than I have, so you've got to tell.
BELINDA (with a happy sigh). O-oh! (She sinks back into her chair.)
DELIA. Is it like the Count at Scarborough?
BELINDA (surprised and pained). My darling, what _do_ you mean?
DELIA. Don't you remember the Count who kept proposing to you at Scarborough? I do.
BELINDA (reproachfully). Dear one, you were the merest child, paddling about on the beach and digging castles.
DELIA (smiling to herself). I was old enough to notice the Count.
BELINDA (sadly). And I'd bought her a perfectly new spade! How one deceives oneself!
DELIA. And then there was the M.P. who proposed at Windermere.
BELINDA. Yes, dear, but it wasn't seconded--I mean he never got very far with it.
DELIA. And the artist in Wales.
BELINDA. Darling child, what a memory you have. No wonder your teachers are pleased with you.
DELIA (settling herself comfortably). Now tell me all about this one.
BELINDA (meekly). Which one?
DELIA (excitedly). Oh, are there lots?
BELINDA (severely). Only two.
DELIA. Two! You abandoned woman!
BELINDA. It's something in the air, darling. I've never been in Devonshire in April before.
DELIA. Is it really serious this time?
BELINDA (pained). I wish you wouldn't say _this_ time, Delia. It sounds so unromantic. If you'd only put it into French--_cette fois_--it sounds so much better. _Cette fois_. (Parentally.) When one's daughter has just returned from an expensive schooling in Paris, one likes to feel--
DELIA. What I meant, dear, was, am I to have a stepfather at last?
BELINDA.
