Delia. Oh, it is jolly seeing you again. I believe you were asleep.
Belinda (with dignity). Certainly not, child. I was reading The Nineteenth Century–(with an air)–and after. (Earnestly) Darling, wasn't it next Thursday you were coming back?
Delia. No, this Thursday, silly.
Belinda (penitently). Oh, my darling, and I was going over to Paris to bring you home.
Delia. I half expected you.
Belinda. So confusing their both being called Thursday. And you were leaving school for the very last time. If you don't forgive me, Delia, I shall cry.
Delia (kissing her and stroking her hand fondly). Silly mother!
(Belinda sits down in the deck-chair and Delia sits on the table.)
Belinda. Isn't it a lovely day for April, darling! I've wanted to say that to somebody all day, and you're the first person who's given me the chance. Oh, I said it to Betty, but she only said, "Yes, ma'am."
Delia. Poor mother!