]
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.
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