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 (_rising and crossing to_ BELINDA). 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 (_turning away and sitting on table_). Well, but do they know
you have a grown-up daughter?
BELINDA (_suddenly realizing and sitting up_). 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.
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