BELINDA (hurt). If he didn't want to stay for _me_, I didn't want him to stay for _you_. (Penitently.) Forgive me, darling, but I didn't know you very well then. (DELIA jumps off the table and hugs her mother impetuously.) We've been very happy together, haven't we? DELIA (going back to her seat). I should think we have. BELINDA. I don't want to deny you anything, and, of course, if you'd like a stepfather (looking down modestly) or two-- DELIA. Oh, you _have_ been enjoying yourself. BELINDA. Only you see how awkward it would be if Jack turned up in the middle of the wedding, like--like Eugene Aram. DELIA. Enoch Arden, darling. BELINDA. It's very confusing their having the same initials. Perhaps I'd better call them both E. A. in future and then I shall be safe. Well, anyhow it would be awkward, darling, wouldn't it? Not that I should know him from Adam after all these years--except for a mole on his left arm. DELIA. Perhaps Adam had a mole. BELINDA. No, darling; you're thinking of Noah. He had two. DELIA (thoughtfully). I wonder what would happen if you met somebody whom you really did fall in love with? BELINDA (reproachfully). Now you're being serious, and it's April. DELIA. Aren't these two--the present two--serious? BELINDA. Oh no! They think they are, but they aren't a bit, really. Besides, I'm doing them such a lot of good. I'm sure they'd hate to marry me, but they love to think they're in love with me, and--_I_ love it, and--and _they_ love it, and--and we _all_ love it. DELIA. You really are the biggest, darlingest baby who ever lived. (Kisses her.) Do say I shan't spoil your lovely times. BELINDA (surprised). Spoil them? Why, you'll make them more lovely than ever. DELIA. Well, but do they know you have a grown-up daughter? BELINDA (suddenly realizing). Oh! DELIA. It doesn't really matter, because you don't look a day more than thirty. BELINDA (absently). No. (Hurriedly.) I mean, how sweet of you--only-- DELIA. What! BELINDA (playing with her rings). Well, one of them, Mr. Baxter--Harold--(she looks quickly up at DELIA and down again in pretty affectation, but she is really laughing at herself all the time) he writes statistical articles for the Reviews--percentages and all those things. He's just the sort of man, if he knew that I was your mother, to work it out that I was more than thirty. The other one, Mr. Devenish--Claude--(she looks up and down as before) he's rather, rather poetical. He thinks I came straight from heaven--last week. DELIA (jumping up). I think _I'd_ better go straight back to Paris.