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! (_Pathetically_.) You see, they're so used to going about together.

DELIA. Claude is quite enough.

BELINDA. I think I must see Mr. Baxter and get it over. Do you mind if I have Mr. Devenish too? I feel more at home with both of them. I'll give you him back. Oh dear, I feel so happy to-night! (_She jumps up and goes to_ DELIA.) And is my little girl going to be happy too? That's what mothers always say on the stage. I think it's so sweet.

(_They move together to below table_.)

DELIA (_smiling at her_). Yes, I think so, mummy. Of course, I'm not romantic like you. I expect I'm more like father, really.

BELINDA (_dreamily_). Jack can be romantic now. He was telling me this morning all about the people he has proposed to. I mean, I was telling him. Anyhow, he wasn't a bit like a father. Of course, he doesn't know he is a father yet. Darling, I think you might take him into the garden; only don't let him know who he is. You see, he ought to propose to me first, oughtn't he?

(_The men come in from_ R. TREMAYNE _goes to the foot of the settee R., DEVENISH to the back of the table up_ R., _while_ BAXTER _stands at the back of the settee_. BELINDA _moves to the front of the settee and DELIA sits on the table_.)

Here you all are! I do hope you haven't been throwing away your cigars, because smoking is allowed all over the house.

TREMAYNE (_as he comes to the foot of the settee_). Oh, we've finished, thank you.

BELINDA (_going up to the swing doors and opening them_). Isn't it a wonderful night?--and so warm for April. Delia, you must show Mr. Robinson the garden by moonlight--it's the only light he hasn't seen it by.

DEVENISH (_quickly coming to_ R. _back of table_ C.). I don't think I've ever seen it by moonlight, Miss Delia.

BELINDA (_coming down a little_). I thought poets were always seeing things by moonlight.

BAXTER (_moving toward_ BELINDA). I was hoping, Mrs. Tremayne, that--er--perhaps-----

DELIA (_moving quickly to above_ TREMAYNE _and taking his_ L. _hand, and pulling him up stage to swing doors_). Come along, Mr. Robinson.

(TREMAYNE _looks at_ BELINDA, _who gives him a nod_. BELINDA _then moves down_ R.)

TREMAYNE (L. _of_ DELIA). It's very kind of you, Miss Robinson. I suppose there is no chance of a nightingale?

BELINDA. There ought to be. I ordered one specially for Mr. Devenish.

(DELIA _and_ TREMAYNE _go out together_. BELINDA, _with a sigh, moves over to the Chesterfield and settles herself comfortably into it_. DEVENISH, _annoyed by_ TREMAYNE'S _attentions to_ DELIA, _crosses up angrily and looks off through the window up_ L. _above fireplace, then comes down_ L. _of the Chesterfield to the front of the fireplace_. BAXTER _moves up to the swing doors angrily watching_ DELIA _and_ TREMAYNE, _then moves to the window_ R. _and looks off_. BETTY _then enters with a salver from_ R. _She moves by the back of the settee to the back of the table_ C., _picks up the coffee-cups and goes out_ R. BAXTER _then moves over to the window facing the audience, up_ L. _He looks off, then comes down to the_ R. _of_ BELINDA.)

Now we're together again. Well, Mr. Devenish?

DEVENISH. Er--I--

BELINDA. No; I think I'll let Mr. Baxter speak first. I know he's longing to.

BAXTER (_leaning on the back of the chair_ L. _of table--he clears his throat_). H'r'm! Mrs. Tremayne, I beg formally to claim your hand.

BELINDA (_sweetly_). On what grounds, Mr. Baxter?

DEVENISH (_spiritedly_). Yes, sir, on what grounds?

BAXTER (_coming to_ R. _of Chesterfield, close to_ BELINDA). On the grounds that, as I told you this morning, I had succeeded in the quest.

DEVENISH (_appearing to be greatly surprised_). Succeeded?

BAXTER. Yes, Mr. Devenish, young fellow, you have lost. (_He moves a few paces_ R. _to below the chair_ L. _of the table_.) I have discovered the missing Mr. Robinson.

DEVENISH (_wiping hit brow and coming to_ BAXTER). Who--where--

BAXTER (_dramatically_). Miss Robinson has at this moment gone out with her father.

DEVENISH (_placing his hands heavily on_ BAXTER'S _shoulders, who staggers_). Good heavens! It was he!

(_BAXTER pats_ DEVENISH _sympathetically and moves to the back of