The end
door on the right. Right at the end. You can't mistake it. On the
right.
TREMAYNE. Ah, yes. (He looks round at DELIA.) Yes. (He looks at
DEVENISH.) Yes. [He goes out.]
(DEVENISH hastily shuts the door and comes back to DELIA.)
DEVENISH. I say, your mother is a ripper.
DELIA (enthusiastically). Isn't she! (Remembering.) At least, you
mean my aunt?
DEVENISH (smiling at her). No, I mean your mother. To think that
I once had the cheek to propose to her.
DELIA. Oh! Is it cheek to propose to people!
DEVENISH. To _her_.
DELIA. But not to me?
DEVENISH. Oh I say, Delia!
DELIA (with great dignity). Thank you, my name is Miss Robinson--
I mean, Tremayne.
DEVENISH. Well, if you're not quite sure which it is, it's much
safer to call you Delia.
DELIA (smiling). Well, perhaps it is.
DEVENISH. And if I did propose to you, you haven't answered
DELIA. If you want an answer now, it's no; but if you like to
wait till next April--
DEVENISH (reproachfully). Oh, I say, and I cut my hair for you the
same afternoon. You haven't really told me how you like it yet.
DELIA. Oh, how bad of me! You look lovely.
DEVENISH. And I promised to give up poetry for your sake.
DELIA. Perhaps I oughtn't to have asked you that.
DEVENISH. As far as I'm concerned, Delia, I'll do it gladly, but,
of course, one has to think about posterity.
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