DELIA. Are you really all alone?

BELINDA (_smiling mysteriously and coyly_). Well, not always, of
course.

DELIA (_excitedly, at she slips off the table, and backing to_ L.
_a little_). Mummy, I believe you're being bad again.

BELINDA. Really, darling, you forget that I'm old enough to be--in fact,
am--your mother.

DELIA (_nodding her head_). You are being bad.

BELINDA (_rising with dignity and drawing herself up to her full
height, moving_ L.). My child, that is not the way to--Oh, I say,
what a lot taller I am than you! (_Turning her back to_ DELIA
_and comparing sizes_.)

DELIA. And prettier.

BELINDA (_playfully rubbing noses with_ DELIA). Oh, do you think
so? (_Firmly, but pleased_.) Don't be silly, child.

DELIA (_holding up a finger_). Now tell me all that's been
happening here at once.

BELINDA (_with a sigh_). And I was just going to ask you how you
were getting on with your French. (_Sits in deck-chair_.)

DELIA. Bother French! You've been having a much more interesting time