than I have, so you've got to tell.

BELINDA (_with a happy sigh_). O-oh! (_She sinks back into her
chair_.)

DELIA (_taking off her coat_). Is it like the Count at Scarborough?

BELINDA (_surprised and pained_). My darling, what do you mean?

DELIA. Don't you remember the Count who kept proposing to you at
Scarborough? I do. (_Places coat on hammock_.)

BELINDA (_reproachfully_). Dear one, you were the merest child,
paddling about on the beach and digging castles.

DELIA (_smiling to herself_). I was old enough to notice the Count.

BELINDA (_sadly_). And I'd bought her a perfectly new spade! How
one deceives oneself!

DELIA (_at table and leaning across, with hands on table_). And
then there was the M.P. who proposed at Windermere.

BELINDA. Yes, dear, but it wasn't seconded--I mean he never got very far
with it.

DELIA. And the artist in Wales.

BELINDA. Darling child, what a memory you have. No wonder your teachers
are pleased with you.