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_.
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