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?
DELIA. No. You see, Claude told me this morning. 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. Does he know you
know? (She goes back to her seat.
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