DELIA. Well, but do they know you have a grown-up daughter?
BELINDA (suddenly realizing). Oh!
DELIA. It doesn't really matter, because you don't look a day more than thirty.
BELINDA (absently). No. (Hurriedly.) I mean, how sweet of you—only—
DELIA. What!
BELINDA (playing with her rings). Well, one of them, Mr. Baxter—Harold—(she looks quickly up at DELIA and down again in pretty affectation, but she is really laughing at herself all the time) he writes statistical articles for the Reviews—percentages and all those things. He's just the sort of man, if he knew that I was your mother, to work it out that I was more than thirty. The other one, Mr. Devenish—Claude—(she looks up and down as before) he's rather, rather poetical. He thinks I came straight from heaven—last week.
DELIA (jumping up). I think I'd better go straight back to Paris.
BELINDA (jumping up and catching her firmly by the arms). You will do nothing of the sort. You will take off that hat—(she lets go of the arm and begins to take out the pin) which is a perfect duck, and I don't know why I didn't say so before—(she puts the hat down on the table) and let me take a good look at you (she does so), and kiss you (she does so), and then we'll go to your room and unpack and have a lovely talk about clothes. And then we'll have tea.
[BETTY comes in.]
BELINDA. And now here's Betty coming in to upset all our delightful plans, just when we've made them.