BELINDA. Well, Mr. Robinson is—(impressively)—is not quite the Robinson he appears to be.
DELIA. Yes?
BELINDA. In fact, child, he is—Hadn't you better come and hold your mother's hand?
DELIA (struggling with some emotion). Go on.
BELINDA. Well, Mr. Robinson is a—sort of relation of yours; in fact—(playing with her rings and looking down coyly)—he is your—father. (She looks up at DELIA to see how the news is being received.) Dear one, this is not a matter for mirth.
DELIA (coming over and kissing her). Darling, it is lovely, isn't it? I am laughing because I am so happy.
BELINDA. Aren't you surprised?
DELIA. No. You see, Claude told me this morning. He found out just before Mr. Baxter.
BELINDA. Well! Every one seems to have known except me.
DELIA. Didn't you see how friendly father and I got at dinner? I thought I'd better start breaking the ice—because I suppose he'll be kissing me directly.