Belinda. Darling child, what a memory you have. No wonder your teachers are pleased with you.
Delia (settling herself comfortably in deck-chair L. of Belinda and lying in her arms). 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?