CURTAIN.
ACT III
_It is after dinner in BELINDA"S hall. The log fire, chandelier and wall brackets are all alight_. BELINDA _is lying on the Chesterfield with a coffee-cup in her hand_. DELIA, _in the chair down_ L. _below the fireplace, has picked up "The Lute of Love" from a table and is reading it impatiently. She also has a coffee-cup in her hand_.
DELIA (_throwing the book away_). What rubbish he writes!
BELINDA (_coming back from her thoughts_). Who, dear?
DELIA. Claude
(BELINDA _gives her a quick look of surprise_.)
--Mr. Devenish. (_She rises and stands by the fireplace with her cup in her hand_.) Of course, he"s very young.
BELINDA. So was Keats, darling.
DELIA. I don"t think Claude has had Keats" advantages. Keats started life as an apothecary.
BELINDA. So much nicer than a chemist.
DELIA. Now, Claude started with nothing to do.
BELINDA (_mildly_). Do you always call him Claude, darling? I hope you aren"t going to grow into a flirt like that horrid Mrs. Tremayne.
DELIA. Silly mother! (_She moves to_ BELINDA, _takes her cup, then crosses to the table and places both the cups on the table-- seriously_.) I don"t think he"ll ever be any good till he really gets work. Did you notice his hair this evening?
BELINDA (_dreamily_). Whose, dear?
DELIA (_going to the back of the Chesterfield and to the_ L. _of_ BELINDA). Mummy, look me in the eye and tell me you are not being bad.
BELINDA (_having playfully turned her head away and hidden her face with her handkerchief, says innocently_). Bad, darling?
DELIA (_moving down to the front of the fireplace_). You"ve made Mr. Robinson fall in love with you.
BELINDA (_happily_). Have I?
DELIA. Yes; it"s serious this time. He"s not like the other two.
BELINDA. However did you know that?
DELIA. Oh, I know.
BELINDA. Darling, I believe you"ve grown up. It"s quite time I settled down.
DELIA. With Mr. Robinson?
(BELINDA _sits up and looks thoughtfully at_ DELIA _for a little time_.)
BELINDA (_mysteriously_). Delia, are you prepared for a great secret to be revealed to you?
DELIA (_childishly and jumping on to the_ L. _arm of the Chesterfield facing_ BELINDA). Oh, I love secrets.
BELINDA (_reproachfully_). Darling, you mustn"t take it like that.
This is a great, deep, dark secret; you"ll probably need your sal volatile.
DELIA (_excitedly_). Go on!
BELINDA. Well---- (_Looking round the room_.) Shall we have the lights down a little?
DELIA. Go on, mummy.
BELINDA. Well, Mr. Robinson is--(_impressively_)--is not quite the Robinson he appears to be.
DELIA. Yes?
BELINDA. In fact, child, he is---- Darling, hadn"t you better come and hold your mother"s hand?
DELIA (_struggling with some emotion and placing her hand on_ BELINDA"S _arm, who playfully smacks it_). 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_.) (DELIA _gives a happy laugh_.)
Dear one, this is not a matter for mirth.
DELIA. Darling, it is lovely, isn"t it? (_Sliding down to the seat of the Chesterfield next to_ BELINDA, _who moves along to make room for her_.) I am laughing because I am so happy.
BELINDA. Aren"t you surprised?
DELIA. No. You see, Claude told me this morning. (BELINDA _displays annoyance_.) 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.
BELINDA. Say you like him.
DELIA. I think he"s going to be awfully nice. (_She kisses_ BELINDA _and rises_.) Does he _know_ you know?
BELINDA. Not yet.
DELIA. Oh! (_She moves to the fireplace and warms her hands_.)
BELINDA. Just at present I"ve rather got Mr. Baxter on my mind. I suppose, darling, you wouldn"t like him as well as Mr. Devenish!