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.