BETTY. It might be a clergyman, come to ask for a subscription like. BELINDA. If it's a clergyman, Betty, I shall--I shall want your assistance out of the hammock first. BETTY. Yes, ma'am. BELINDA. That's all. To anybody else I'm not at home. (Trying to secure book on table and nearly falling out of the hammock.) Oh, just give me that little green book. (Pointing to books on the table.) The one at the bottom there--that's the one. (BETTY gives it to her.) Thank you. (Reading the title.) "The Lute of Love," by Claude Devenish. (To herself as she turns the pages.) It doesn't seem much for half-a-crown when you think of the _Daily Telegraph_. ... Lute... Lute.... I should have quite a pretty mouth if I kept on saying that. (With a great deal of expression.) Lute! (She pats her mouth back.) BETTY. Is that all, ma'am? BELINDA. That's all. (BETTY prepares to go.) Oh, what am I thinking of! (Waving to the table.) I want that review; I think it's the blue one. (As BETTY begins to look.) It has an article by Mr. Baxter on the "Rise of Lunacy in the Eastern Counties"--yes, that's the one. I'd better have that too; I'm just at the most exciting place. You shall have it after _me, _Betty. BETTY. Is that all, ma'am? BELINDA. Yes, that really is all. [BETTY goes into the house.] BELINDA (reading to herself). "It is a matter of grave concern to all serious students of social problems--" (Putting the review down in hammock and shaking her head gently.) But not in April. (Lazily opening the book and reading.) "Tell me where is love"--well, that's the question, isn't it? (She puts the book down, gives a sigh of happiness, and lazily closes her eyes. DELIA comes into the garden, from Paris. She is decidedly a modern girl, pretty and self-possessed. Her hair is half-way up; waiting for her birthday, perhaps. She sees her mother suddenly, stops, and then goes on tiptoe to the head of the hammock. She smiles and kisses her mother on the forehead. BELINDA, looking supremely unconscious, goes on sleeping. DELIA kisses her lightly again. BELINDA wakes up with an extraordinarily natural start, and is just about to say, "Oh, Mr. Devenish--you mustn't!"--when she sees DELIA.) Delia! DELIA. Well, mummy, aren't you glad to see me? BELINDA. My darling child! (They kiss each other frantically.) DELIA. Say you're glad. BELINDA (sitting up). My darling, I'm absolutely--Hold the hammock while I get out, dear; we don't want an accident. (Getting out with DELIA'S help) They're all right when you're there, and they'll bear two tons, but they're horrid getting in and out of. (Kissing her again) Darling, it really _is_ you? DELIA. Oh, it is jolly seeing you again. I believe you were asleep. BELINDA (with dignity). Certainly not, child. I was reading "The Nineteenth Century"--(with an air)--and after. (Earnestly) Darling, wasn't it next Thursday you were coming back? DELIA. No, this Thursday, silly.