(Standing up) Properly speaking, I ought to be
wearing white. I shall certainly stand up while I'm telling you.
(Modestly.) Darling, we have a daughter--our little Delia.
TREMAYNE. Delia? You said her name was Robinson.
BELINDA. Yes, darling, but you said yours was. One always takes
one's father's name. Unless, of course, you were Lord Robinson.
TREMAYNE. But you said her name was Robinson before you--oh, never
mind about that. A daughter? Belinda, how could you let me go and
not tell me?
BELINDA. You forget how you'd slammed the door. It isn't the sort
of thing you shout through the window to a man on his way to
America.
TREMAYNE (taking her in his arms). Oh, Belinda, don't let me ever
go away again.
BELINDA. I'm not going to, Jack. I'm going to settle down into a
staid old married woman.
TREMAYNE. Oh no, you're not. You're going on just as you did
before. And I'm going to propose to you every April, and win you,
over all the other men in love with you.
BELINDA. You darling!
[DELIA and DEVENISH come in from the garden.]
TREMAYNE (quietly to BELINDA). Our daughter.
DELIA (going up to TREMAYNE). You're my father.
TREMAYNE. If you don't mind very much, Delia.
DELIA. You've been away a long time.
TREMAYNE. I'll do my best to make up for it.
BELINDA. Delia, darling, I think you might kiss your poor old
father.
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